Blind Spot
by Fjord Mustang
Summary: Toothless' spy mission showed Red Deaths are a worldwide threat. He & Hiccup got humans to trust & partner with dragons. In this story, allies of Hiccup & Toothless also have a hard challenge: getting dragons to trust & partner with humans. Can they?
1. The Slopes of the Steppes

**Blind Spot**

Hello and thanks for reading my second HTTYD universe story! Once again, it's a nod to one of my favorite time bending, madhouse, humor ripping science fiction authors: Robert Anson Heinlein.

As you've noticed from the summary, this does not take place in Berk, and it features characters of mine who were in "_To Soar into the Sunset: a Night Fury's Odd Memoir." _Of course, some HTTYD characters will be in here, don't worry, but the focus is on a different part of the world of humans and dragons- and on a different way that humans and dragons might find a way to understand and work together against a common danger. In this world, it's not the humans who need convincing... it's the dragons!

And I can promise you there will be Vikings. And, of course, dragons. And even Vikings who are not Vikings and dragons who are not dragons and yet are dragons! There are dragon species from the movie and even some that did not make it into the Dragon Manual.

I am planning to get back to Berk very soon with some post movie fictions, but this story is an important one to tell now since it shows some concepts and potential plot situations that are going to be very important to our Vikings and Dragons on Berk in these upcoming stories.

The events in this story take place right about the time as the events in the latter half of the movie and in the latter half of my other fan fiction.

Also, there are some major spoilers here for my other fanfiction, so if you have not read "To Soar Into the Sunset," just be aware of that. Otherwise, this is a stand alone story.

Thanks to **WhiteFang333** for sharing his biological knowledge and letting me run a few theories about possible dragon behaviors past him. He also gave me some suggestions on unique types of dragons and their lifestyles that I am using in this story. Any mistakes about biological theories are entirely my errors.

**Note:** There are many puns and terms in this story that are based on English, which, of course the people in this story would not speak. I needed to have them in there, though, to add to the understanding of the characters' thoughts and personalities. I also put translations and definitions below the story.

* * *

**Chapter 1: On the Slopes of the Steppes**

"Must be a yearning deep in the human heart to stop other people from doing as they please. Rules, laws — but always for the other fellow".- R. A. Heinlein , _The Moon is a Harsh Mistress_

**Disclaimer:** Yes, the world "Disclaimer" is spelled correctly. And, no, I don't own Toothless, Night Furies, and most of the other dragons mentioned here. The other characters are mine (insert evil laugh here.) _All chapter quotes (and chapter headings) are from Robert Heinlein. Chapter names are derived Robert Heinlein novels and short stories_

_

* * *

_I had been watching him as he stumbled in the canyon, starving, unable to snag the prey that hovered just in front of him.

I know I had not had a good day so far. Training had been getting hardcore, and I hated that I not only had to prove myself capable of handling the same challenges of the other younglings, but I somehow had to EXCEED their- and our teacher's- expectations. They all completely expected I would fail. That just fueled my fire to soldier on in the training, even though they laughed at my appearance and used it as a reason that I would fail.

I mean, come on! Can you help how you look? Why can we not judge a Person by his character or by her deeds, and not by the size of the muscles or the hair color? I don't fit into the standard definition of what makes a warrior of my people, ergo, I have to prove I am worthy to stand in the training grounds _before_ I can even attempt to pass the training? Just like that old saying goes, someone like me has to work twice as hard to show I am half as good.

Heh. In my opinion, eating rotten apple cores covered in tar would be much more fun, and probably cause less of a bad taste in my mouth.

So, I entered the canyon with good ole snarkiness as my ally, feeling I had something to prove. I shook my shaggy reddish-brown hair out of my eyes as I saw him.

_Still there, the tenacious critter._

He was trapped in the canyon and hungry. Much as he wanted to eat, his injury held him back. I could see he was very clever. He was trying to figure out ways to get himself out of there, and they probably would have worked if he did not have a crippling injury that caused all his escape attempts to fail.

When I saw what it was, it made my heart sink. Losing that part of the body, in our world of warfare and raids and long voyages, is a pretty serious setback. You cannot go it alone with that kind of loss. You'll always need to have someone - or something- to help you get where you want to go. He had been calling, sounding loud pleas in a brave and proud call to let his kind know he was trapped here, but no one had answered him.

It made me realize that he either really was the only one of his kind, or his kind was not anywhere in this region to be able to help.

I knew, with a cold chill, this creature would die without my help.

So, I entered the canyon, bringing food for the trapped, intriguing creature.

We had a few issues of trust, for sure. I was amazed he did not strike out at me when I put the food before him. When he offered to share it with me, I choked it down, but not gladly. (Believe me, the apple cores and tar would have been a true gourmet delicacy in comparison).

We continued to suss each other out, coming closer and leaping away. You know the general details, anyway. (Goodness, I know I hate listening to the same cute "my-baby-learned-his-first-dirty-word-today" stories over and over again at social gatherings, so I know you, also, get tired of hearing the same stories of our bonding, as well). So, in my infinite and awesome mercy, I will not bore you.

Eventually, we faced each other, and I knew this was the time to ask him to show his support or to ask me to leave him alone.

So, I turned my eyes away and reached out, letting him know the decision was his.

A few stressful moments of water and insects and wind whistling.

Then, amazingly, we made contact.

I gasped in surprised happiness as he took the chance and he lowered his human hand to touch my equine muzzle.

And we bonded as a Rider and Horse.

And I was never lonely again.

* * *

That moment was the furthest from my mind at the present. Survival had poked its scaly head in and let me know that, if I miscalculated in any way in the next few moments, my friend and I would be going on a really long, one-way journey to the Afterlife.

The Red Death followed us, its breath hot on my back. Our speed in fleeing this annoyance was throwing my bangs back, and I had to struggle not to lose my balance. Still I gritted my teeth and signaled out the command to my friend.

_::Hold:: _

A moment more. A moment more. A moment more.

Wind flattening along our sides, a forest of teeth waiting to snag me.

My mind seemed tensed for it. And then the strange instinct that I've developed from our days together flared into being.

_::Okay! NOW!::_

My Rider swiveled on my back and let loose the strung arrow with a fantastic, echoing, ripping sound.

It seemed to blaze like it was on fire in the way the sun caught the tip, and then it buried itself right in the "Happy Landing Ground", that vulnerable spot juvenile Red Deaths have under the jaw, where the plates have not yet fused.

The Red Death startled for a moment and jerked its head up, driving the arrow blade in further, spreading the scythian coating on the arrow into its bloodstream.

The toxin did its work, just as I thrust my back legs and sent my Rider and me flying away, perpendicular to the monster.

My jump was nothing to boast about to the high priest, but it cleared us out of there before we got splattered with some not so nice parting gifts. My Rider was expecting it and braced himself, legs gripping securely to my sides, the gently raised fenders on each side of the saddle keeping him locked in place. I thudded to the ground and let out a snort of relief, shaking the long blades of bunchgrass around us.

My former pursuer had now started running in circles, a nasty greenish steam coming from its nostrils. It gave a screech of bone chilling agony as purplish blood began pouring out of its four nostrils. Green-tinged foam dripped between its considerable display of teeth. A few of those snaggly things even fell out, loosened by the reaction of the toxin. They fell, hissing, into the dead prairie grass.

My Rider and I kept our distance, moving in a large circle at a gliding walk, heading back towards the dying creature. I heard a soft rustle as my Rider nocked another arrow to the bow, just in case. He sat back harder on me for moment, our worked-out code for me to stop, and I did so, ears back in cautious anticipation.

The creature toppled onto its side, and we both heard the gargle as the toxin did some rather mean things to its insides. I felt no powerful emotions as I watched it. I did not pity it, considering it would very happily have snacked on my Rider and me. Plus the dragon it had managed to bring down. I like to think that the Great Stallion's words have some value that there is a spark of goodness in all creatures, a gift the Creator Father gave all of us , along with the Sky Lady and the Night Lady. No disrespect to the deities, but they probably have not had the pleasure of meeting a Red Death for a no-repeat game of tag. At least, they would not know what we mortals face in that situation.

"Good work, Bond-sister," my Rider's voice stroked my forehead between my ears, and I shook my head in pleasure, letting out a rattling snort of happiness. He continued to pat my neck and gently slap my withers, letting me know he was proud of me. Like all of my kind, I leaned into it and lapped it up, mentally. Firemakers underestimate the joy and belonging the touch of a true friend can bring. My People, the Turkmenes, know it, and that's why always nibble each other along the neck and on our withers when we are showing one of our kind we are pleased to be with them.

_::Same here. Firemaker-brother::_ I told him, _::Excellent aim, as always. Remind me never to get in a fight with you.::_

_"_Huh. Without your help, I would not be able to shoot you in the first place, so you pretty much can annoy me all you want."

_::I know. That advantage gives me great pleasure, too, O hairless Ape.::_

"Merciless mare, you will come to a bad end." My Rider sat up in the saddle, "Come on- let's see if she is okay."

He nudged me gently on the right side, signaling me to turn in that direction. I did so, gliding through the rustling late fall grass. Even though it had long ago died, a scent-aura of sweet grass clung to it, a whisper of the long gone summer.

The grass suddenly wavered as a creature that had been lying on its side lurched to its feet. A flash of deep slate color, and the most beautiful creature known to Sarmatians- both human and horse- erupted into the air, scattering blades of dead grass in its passage.

She was still off her game and wobbled a bit, balancing on incredibly long, velvety bat wings freckled with silvery patches. To me, the Lightning Breather resembled nothing more than a black leopard from the Far Eastern steppes, but with smooth scales and a powerful reptilian jaw. She flew with two sets of wings and balanced herself, cat like, with a long, sinuous tail armed with two rows of small ridges. It ended in two, streaming tail fins. She circled around us, catching a breeze and gliding to save her wings. The sun brought out the deeper tones of stripes and spots decorating her neck, shoulders and legs.

_::Permission to link minds, please:: _I thought-sent to her, the traditional greeting acknowledging that my species, like hers, can thought-send. I lowered my mental shields, letting her sense I was putting myself vulnerable to a mind blast from her, but also that I was approaching her in peace and greeting.

The black-blue Lightning Breather, to my surprise, actually did lower her shields, too, but it was an abrupt, cold gesture. She was not doing this out of any interest in friendship, but because it was the easiest way to communicate.

G_otta love those Bureaucrats of the Sky. _Yes, they are stunningly beautiful, the most stunning of dragon-kind. Unfortunately, they know it, too. And, even more unfortunate, they like to make sure we Sarmatians know it.

Well, if you've been guiding them for as long my Rider and I have, you may admire their beauty, but you lose your respect for their natures.

After all, when you trot on the ground like me, the view I mostly have of soaring dragons is their bellies and everything under the tail. That does worlds to diminish my awe for them.

"Hello, my lady!" my Rider called, raising his free hand in the salute of our tribe, "Have you been harmed? Those creatures have quite a mental pull on dragons. My friend and I were serious, here, about helping you over the steppes." He gestured to the dead Red Death, "_That_ is why you need us as guides."

I translated my Rider's words, thought-sending them to the Lightning Breather.

Suddenly the dark dragon shuddered again and let herself land back into the grass, trembling, still fighting off the effects of the Red Death's thrall. It must have been playing havoc with her internal navigational system. That, and the general overwhelming feeling dragons get from our Steppe land (admittedly, it is on the very odd side of _home-sweet-home),_ had taken down her resistance.

This Red Death, like all the ones our people have dispatched, was a juvenile. We've never seen a fully grown one, but I have a feeling none of us would have lasted the time it took to sneeze if we'd challenged an adult. The key is to get rid of them before they get that old enough. Better to take down a problem while you still can control it.

The Lightning Breather shook her head rapidly, her side plates flapping almost comically, her cat-like nostrils flaring in shock. Even in this condition, I must admit she was exquisite. Even though they are insufferably arrogant, I can never get enough of seeing the way Lightning Breathers move in the wild- graceful, phantom-like winged cats. (I guess I really am a "Cat" horse, much as my Rider likes to tease me about it. He seems to think dogs are the pinnacle of creation on Earth. Except for dragons, of course.)

_::Are you all right, winged one?:: _I asked her, maintaining my trained professionalism when dealing with someone who is sure she is a Higher Power, _::We really are happy to help. We do not expect any payment for this. You'd even be helping us, since you can see things from above we cannot.::_

She glared at me with baleful golden-green eyes, pupils shrunk to cat-like thinness in the bright sun.

_::Just breathe, that's it:: _I said soothingly, :_:I know it's not easy to be on the ground, but we'll watch your back until you can fly. Trust us. We swear it on fire. And, being a dragon, you should know that is no small boast.::_

And it is not. When a Sarmatian Firemaker- or his horse- makes that oath, we say it with total truth.

The Lightning Breather seemed to be a young one, what in my Turkmene People's age would be just when a filly becomes a mare. She flared her nostrils, her breaths coming easier, now. And then she inclined her head gracefully, sending out her well thought message of appreciation for saving her sleek and lovely hide.

_::Scorch you! Both you and your Firemaker! Stay back from me, Traitors to our People! ::_

I've learned long ago not to let Lightning Breather compliments get on my nerves, but this one really did take the prize _::Well, you're most welcome. Such a pure pleasure doing business with you, ma'am. We'll see you again at the next enthrallment, 'kay? Hopefully , you'll still be in one piece ::_

My Rider took in this exchange with calm, but underneath I could feel some roiling anger, and his free hand gripped my neck- harness handle hard. Because he has Bonded with me, he can pick up other Mental's thoughts, using me as the conduit.

"Come on,_ doostam_," he said to me, soothingly, "We have other things to do, before the venom dries out."

I could not agree more, and we moved back from the panting Lightning Breather. As I turned my back to her, I was grateful that we Turkmenes- like most horses- can see behind us.

_::Rest well, good Lightning Breather. Just remember, if you plan to shoot us Traitors in the back , that this is a vast plain of dead, dry, foliage that stretches for hundreds of leagues. And fire really _can_ burn faster than you can fly , in the right conditions. And I doubt you can fly high enough where the smoke won't overcome you. Just a little advice, girlfriend to girlfriend::_

I heard a quick gasp of breathed-in oxygen being forced back out of the mouth and jaws slamming shut.

_Yup, figured your moves out long ago, Lightning Breather. _

She continued to seethe, though, realization probably settling in her that my Rider and I were the only thing that could help her on her journey over the plains. This is a zone of general weirdness due to some strange temporal circumstances.

See, dragons have this extra sense that makes them unique among Earth creatures. They can echo locate like bats and pull in thoughts, auras and a whole feast of other amazing things that the rest of us poor slobs don't perceive, though they are right under our muzzles. This makes them very keen hunters and explorers, and according to the few priests of our kind that dragons will deign to visit, extremely perceptive about situations.

Not in the steppes, though. There are disturbances in the atmosphere here that mess up dragons' sensors, knocking out their sense of direction. Normally, they rely on a network of Lightning Breathers to guide them as they travel, being "passed" along from "Signaler" to "Signaler" during periods where rain and fog obscures a normal dragon's ability to navigate. Lightning Breathers, like our loving admirer in the grass, have the highest level of navigation, probably because they have a set of eight sensors, opposed to the usual two on most dragons. However, even they cannot handle the disruption fields here, and the lack of sheltering caves, overhangs and trees is very dangerous for creatures who depend on being able to blend into the shadows of mountains, cliffs and high forest canopy.

Enter my Rider and I, the newly-minted Traitors, at your service! We are part of a network of teams of Sarmatian horses and riders fanned out across the Steppe lands, guiding dragons through this region where their own people cannot guide them. We also guide Firemaker travelers: merchant caravans, pilgrims of various faiths, nomadic folk bringing flocks to the Borders to trade with the Settled Firemakers.

To be honest, we deal more with Firemakers than with dragons, which suits us just fine. Firemakers will pay us for guiding and protecting them, so my Rider and I can bring back to our Tribe the useful things we nomads cannot cultivate in our lifestyle. And, sometimes, we'll even bring back a few fripperies that look nice hanging from a wagon wall or woven into a lady Firemaker's cloak. Sarmatians love bright colored clothing or a beautifully crafted piece of art, and they will pay my Rider handsomely for that. It also means Yours Truly gets lots of extra honey in the grain, some new coat brushes and even decorations on the harness, to hoof! (I may be warrior, but I also am a lady, and I like to look nice on special occasions)

Our bartering protection for goods brings in a continuous flow of trade items that helps us to afford our obligation to protecting dragons. It's not easy for our people to give up valuable warriors who should be serving in their Dragon Units to, instead, protect real dragons out on the plains.

But this is our Task. It was given to us as a condition by the most powerful Firemakers I have ever encountered. Agreeing to come here to these Steppe lands was the only thing that kept my Rider's People from being annihilated by the Broomheads. And, we know we are being Watched, so we take our mission very seriously.

And, yes, there is another route both dragons and traders could take, but it involves dropping through the Caucusus mountains and across Anatolia, up into the Great Walled City/Prison of Eternal Madness and then the Greek speaking lands. It's safer for both human and dragon, but it takes longer. So, everyone who chooses the Steppes has a pretty good reason for taking the risk of being chomped by a Red Death or getting lost in the mirages.

Anyway, after that explanation, you can wake up now!

At this point, we had come back to the Red Death's side. It lay stretched out, glassed eyes trained on the sky, sides flat and still.

I drew back my lips from my teeth and breathed in, the horse's way of scenting the air. Firemakers who don't know us think it is cute and we are "smiling" or "laughing." We're actually seeking possible hazards.

The smell of death curled into my nose and mouth, and I knew the Red Death was, truly, dead.

"How many eyes, my friend?" my Rider asked me.

_::Two and a half:: _ I answered _::One pair, right and left, and there is a bud on the left starting to generate into an orb::_

"Good," My rider had a tone of satisfaction in his voice.

We take a great deal of pride in stopping these beasts as young as we can. There almost is a sense of dissatisfaction when we bring a Red Death down that has four eyes. It means we were not swift enough to intercept it when it came over the Gate. We rather want to take 'em out before they have a chance to lay claim to our homeland.

None of us have seen if they can grow more than four eyes. There is a continuous array of knobs that run alongside the beasts' wolfy/vipery faces in a row. Apparently, these develop into eyes as the creature matures. The row of knobs stretches all the way back to the end of the jaws, almost where the neck meets. Does that mean it can make as many as ten or more pairs of eyes? Or, as it grows up, does it require more knobs fusing together to make a single eye, yet these "newer" eyes have better vision than the first set of eyes?

These thoughts were passing back and forth between my Rider and I as we observed the beast. We had heard the priests discussing this with some of our troops, and it was something that was intriguing.

I must admit, we Turkmenes- and most horses- are not ones for deep introspection, but since I have bonded with my Rider, it seems my own mind has been opened, and I find myself able to grasp things that the silly, little Roxalani filly I used to be, could never have. When my Rider is touching me or on my back, I am instantly much smarter.

Conversely, when I am away from his side for too long, I am instantly much- well- you get the idea.

Amazing, these Firemakers!

But then, again, my Firemaker also is at his best when he is touching me or sitting on me. We have a most unusual Bond.

I felt his gentle weight on my back lighten as he slid off my back, landing on his booted feet with a bit of a grunt. We had been on the move without a break for a long time today, so I imagine his legs were feeling a bit stiff.

His palm remained on my harness hand-grip, keeping contact with me. I knew the drill.

_::Two candlemarks past noon. The tail tip will be under your right hand. Be careful. Smell for the poison::_

"Thanks, Bond-sister."

We were adjacent at an angle to the Death, but my Rider knew now the direction to head for the tail. He walked forward, hand held out to balance himself, eyes closed. His steps were clumsy and halting, but that did not shame me in any way. It is how he is, and I am proud he is my Rider.

I walked behind him and, as he reached the point, I struck my left front hoof on the ground, hard. He knew to stop and, then, knelt down. I saw his tiny Firemaker nostrils flare as he smelled for the venom, a piney smell that is not unpleasant.

He nodded, indicating he had located the source. Most of his tribe cannot smell the Red Death venom, but my Firemaker can. He has senses the others do not have, and for a very good reason.

You see, if you have not figured it out, there is one thing you should know.

My Rider is blind.

With a surety that anyone who did not know my Rider would not expect, he was grasping the tail tip in his thick, dragon-scaled riding glove. His other hand moved to his belt and grasped until he pulled a sharp tool from it, one with a blade designed just for this purpose. Carefully, his tongue sticking childishly out between his teeth, he sliced the Red Death juvenile's tail tip, including the area that has the venom sack. Since this Red Death was so young, its tail had not yet formed into a club. It was a simple appendage with a basic "rosette" of spikes, each about the length of a viper's fangs. The whole tail tip was no thicker than my rider's wrist, but the poison was still potent enough to paralyze a Firemaker who got pricked while handling the tail.

He tilted the tail tip the right way to keep the venom from running out and stood up, leaning back against me. Using the tool in his other hand, he pressed it so the specially-designed clamps located below the cutting blade squeezed the open end of the amputated tail shut. The edges, touching each other, actually fused together, sealing off the venom from running out.

If we had waited too long after the creature had died, the skin would lose that fusing property.

_::To your Right. Two finger-lengths::_

Nodding his thanks, he pulled the compactly-strapped venom sack from the clips where it hung around the outside of my breast band. The sack was actually made in triple layers, each one lined in Red Death hide to protect against the unlikely event that venom that might leak through.

He dropped the sealed tail tip into the sack where it rattled against the three other tail tips we had collected so far. Our priests would extract the venom from the sacks and combine the venom with some other natural elements that, to me, sounded like various ways of saying the word "Gobbledegook." The resulting serum, scythian, changed the structure of the Red Death poison, warping it into a form that would poison a Red Death upon contact with its blood stream.

Incidentally, it also made a rather nasty little gift to send our Firemaker enemies via our arrows.

"Thanks, ma'am. Would you like a pretty bauble for your harness, horsey-kins? You do deserve it, and I'm happy to fetch you a nice accessory. Just say the word!"

_::The word!:: _I nickered sarcastically

My Rider laughed and followed my directions to move up to the Death's shoulder where the skin made an interesting pattern of red, pebble-like, knobs on the usual dull blue-green hide. He skillfully sliced a strip of the hide and cleaned it on the spot. Then he set it in another part of our packs. The tribal tanner would cure it and stretch it into the right shape so it could be secured to one of the moon-shaped medallions that dangled from my breast plate, my neck band, and breeching. It would make a pretty streamer that would float in the air but not hinder my movements. If the light hit it the right way, it would even glow a sparkly red and green, a _ghastly_ shade of red and green, mind you, but anything to creep out the enemy is key.

He held it up for me, "Suits, ma'am?"

I nodded in pleasure, _::Suits. Carry on, Monkey Man.::_

I already had quite a collection of Red Death Ribbons, but there was still plenty more room on my harness for more. I'm just a young 'un, and we all need goals in life, right?

We used to hang other, perhaps more macabre, skins from those medallions in the days before The Crossing, but I won't gross you out with the details on that. Yet.

My Rider checked my saddle girths, making sure everything was secure and comfortable on me. He skillfully swung himself onto my back in a fluid motion, just balancing his hands on my pommel as he swung his right leg over my back.

He settled himself comfortably on me, shifting himself so he was not putting all his weight on my back. My Firemaker's Tribe has a great deal of respect for horses, and it shows in the little things they do to keep us comfortable on our long journeys.

_::Guess what gender it was?:: _I snorted, playfully at my Rider.

My Rider sighed between his teeth, "You always ask me the most difficult of questions. I'm not sure, honestly. It most likely was a female Red Death. But, then again, it could be a female Red Death."

I tossed my head, :_:Wrong. It's a female Red Death.::_

"I _knew_ it! I should have gone with my first instincts." I heard my Rider face palm himself in a teasing way, "I wonder if there has been any sighting of a male Red Death."

_::So, far, no. We've only seen females::_

This fact has led our Forge Priests and Star Priests to consider that this strange invasive species practices some sort of strange self reproduction where it creates completely identical copies of itself. They use a mystical word that sounds like Khloh Ning.

As I finished my comment about only female Red Deaths being sighted, my Rider started chuckling in a pseudo Evil One manner.

_::Don't, even say what I think you're going to say!:: _ I warned my Rider as we moved away, passing the annoyed Lightning Person, as we moved on our way towards the west.

"What? I just was going to say, seems only nat- AAAAHHH STOP BUCKING, WILL YOU?"

* * *

"So, I'd really like to know why we are traitors, all of a sudden," my Rider said, moving the roasting skewer with the hare a little closer to the burning fire. He did not need my direction. His own, excellent, ability to sense the heat directed him to the best cooking parts of the campfire.

We had set up our evening camp in a usual spot we had marked for this route. It had a small stream with potable water, and there was a small overhang for shelter if it started raining. Tonight was a little warmer than usual for this time of the year, and my Rider wanted to sleep under the stars, but we had to have a Plan B if the rains came.

"I know I used to be quite the prankster in my younger days, but I was certainly no traitor. Heh. I enjoyed swapping one of each person's boots so everyone had a mismatched pair. And hanging sissy-flower chains around the necks of the Scepter Holder's oxen just before the Sarda Festival so there was no time to change the harness. And all those "Wash Me'"_ tamga_-runes I used to finger draw in the dust of people's wagons," my Rider sighed, and I heard the regret there, the silent_ That was before IT happened to me._

I nudged my Rider in the shoulder. I had not been there when IT happened to him. We did not discuss this. Our common version is he had a blow to his head during a raid, but I think there was more to this. The faint, silver webbing in the skin around his eyes that has faded with time tells me a different story. I knew he would tell that tale of how he lost his sight when it was his time. We all have our demons to face, and he had not been willing to deal with that one.

He reached up and scratched me under the jaw, a spot I LOVE to have tickled. I leaned into it and nickered, quietly. He laughed and scratched a bit harder.

At that point, a loud explosion of wind came over us, punctuated by thumps of wings.

"Incoming Lightning Breather," my Rider said, casually.

_::Oh, be still, my heart. We are about to be Blessed:: _

We both looked up as the Lightning Breather we had saved earlier today circled over our us, her eyes glowing a strange beryl shade in our campfire light. Neither my Rider nor I communicated a thought to her.

But we are professionals. He pointed with his finger and I my muzzle, toward the overhang where she could rest. Hospitality is one of the basic rules of the Sarmatians. If a traveler seeks shelter, you give it to him or her. You never know when he or she might be the one to save your life in the future.

She flew to it and dropped down neatly, folding her primary wings against her shoulders. Her secondaries gracefully furled themselves out like two fans. She folded all her legs under her and wrapped her tail around herself. She dropped her head on her the knees of her curled up front legs.

"So, we meet again," My Rider said, raising his rabbit up and sniffing it to ascertain how well cooked it was. Shaking his head, he lowered the skewer back over the fire to cook his meal longer, "There's fish in the pond, in case you're hungry."

_::I'm only doing this because I need to get to the West:: _I picked up the Lightning Breather's guarded thought-speech _::And I DON'T like it. I usually stay away from traitors.::_

I felt a chill in the air that had not been there before, and I was glad for the fire and for the embroidered blanket my Rider had put on me after he'd unsaddled and groomed me.

_::Would you mind, ever so much, esteemed dragon, explaining why we are traitors?:: _ I asked her, :_: I find it rather helpful to know why I am being condemned so I know the appropriate way to sneer at it. Force of habit, sorry.::_

_::Delusional dragon, that's all you are:: _the Lightning Person closed her great and beautifully-perfect eyes. She seemed relaxed, but her mind was as keen as obsidian, :_:Dreaming of what you will never be. Is this why you betrayed our kind? Did you and your Rider think you could somehow gain our cooperation, gain our abilities, be more like us? ::_

I could have said something, but I know a Professional Monologuer when I meet one. No matter the species, they love telling you why you are inferior and doomed and they have the moral high road. Or whatever.

So, I just munched on some more of the lovely barley and hay my Rider had laid out for me (oh, goody, it was the stash from the Issikul alfalfa fields!). And counted backwards from ten. (Yes, I can count. At least when I am near my Rider. When I am not, I can sometimes make it up to four. When I really try.)

And, as predicted, she Monologued as I hit "Two."

:_:You must KNOW why you two are Traitors among the Lightning People. Somehow, you managed to brainwash one of our kind into giving you classified information. That was highly secured data. When that no good dragon-trash opted to give it to you and not to a Lightning Person Signaler, it was a breach of security, of confidence. I don't how you did it, but there it is. _

_::Not only did you brainwash, but you Mind-raped one of our kind!:: _ She laced back all her sensors and spat out a hiss :: _Mind-Perverts! Thanks to you, a promising no, I underestimate, - one of the MOST promising- younglings of his generation, has been excommunicated, thrown away like maggoty meat scraps, since he is now damaged goods. In one gesture you turned a young genius into garbage::_

I knew what she was talking about and laced back my ears in real anger. This was further from the truth than I could have ever imagined! Gossip among the Lightning Breathers contains more venom in it than what bounced in the sack on my saddle harness.

_:: 'Scuze me, but I am pretty innocent on these Force-People-Against-Their -Will things, but I specifically recall that my Rider and I asked that young Lightning Breather- Toothless, he calls himself, now- his permission. And he willingly gave it. We would_ never_ have forced him. If he had declined, we would have left him alone, no questions asked. It's not our way to force someone to act against himself. That is the path of The Lie:: _ I snorted in semi aggression- a warning, not yet a signal to attack _::It is a smear on our honesty that your people think we pushed Toothless into this.::_

I do take my comments back about all Lightning Breathers being insufferable. Not too long ago, My Rider and I had met one who had been quite fun to be around, and we had become friends, of a sort.

Another snort, _::Barbarians and their simple beliefs. Well, we're just lucky that some of our Lightning People intercepted the data before you got it to your so-called Elders::_

My Rider and I exchanged a mental gaze, mind meeting mind. We both shrugged and decided to go with the flow.

_::We're lucky, in the long run, you intercepted it. We learned the error of our ways:: _I sent contritely, as my Rider nodded at my way-too-agreeable words.

The Lightning Breather seemed happy with that, though, and flicked her tail in pleasure at her cleverness. She lidded her eyes in satisfaction.

My Rider pulled the rabbit from the fire and started to eat it for dinner, delicately, as was his manner. I fluttered my nostrils. I am not a meat eater, but our Firemakers are. I don't begrudge them that. Our nomadic way of life makes it hard for Firemakers to rely only on plants. And they can't eat grass, the poor dears. But they have a responsibility from Marha to be good wardens to nature.

What Her Majesty did not know, is that my Rider and I are a firm believer in keeping Backup data. Yes, our data was intercepted. And, yes, our forge priests still got the data, just through the back door of the wagon, as it were.

But there was one comment that stuck at my mind, and that of my Rider. He leaned toward me and gestured with a hand. I looked at the Lightning Breather solemnly, ears leveled back

_::What did you People do to Toothless?:: _I asked, trying to keep the edge of threat from my thought voice

It worked. The Lightning Breather opened her eyes, met my gaze coolly, then closed them again. _::Toothless? Is that what you call him? That's rather a crude name for a Lightning Person, a former Signaler, too.:: _she snorted again, the cool night air turning her breath into light steam _ ::The North Atlantic Sector confronted Stormthrill and took his connection to us away. And we banished him. Stormthrill won't be able to hurt anyone, now. Crippled and mind-locked, he's now as harmless as a stranded fish in a tidal pool::_

I could not help it and dropped my head. My Rider, next to me, laid a reassuring hand on my neck, picking up on my distress.

_Stormthrill. Is that Toothless' True-name? _If it was possible for my respect for the Lightning Breather lady to drop lower, it just did. Among we Sarmatians- both horse and Firemaker- we never give out another's True-name. That is why I am known as the Turkmene, and my rider is, simply my Rider. We don't give out our names to just anyone.

Your name is who you are, the connection to your soul. And only you have the privilege to share it with others. It is your gift to them. Mostly, we who meet and decide to become closer friends exchange our names with each other at the same moment, so it is a shared gift. Otherwise, if the wrong person knew your name, a soul infected by the Lie Under the Earth, he or she could place evil spells on you.

I never asked for Toothless' name. We just used nicknames when we first interacted. If he later wanted to be known as Toothless, why I was happy to use that name. It's what he wanted. I found it a violation that this stranger could reveal my friend's True-Name so easily, and in such a disparaging way. But then, again, she seemed to feel he was not worthy of respect.

_::What will happen to him?:: _ I asked, finally, my thought-voice more reedy than I intended.

A snort from the outcropping above me and a flash of beautiful green eyes _::Really, do I care? He asked for it. We had to banish him. Otherwise, he could damage our People more than he already has. He was too smart for his own good, if you ask me.::_

_Actually, I didn't _ I thought, rather undiplomatically. I decided the topic was over, and I let myself relax, willing myself to sleep. I later heard my Rider putting out the fire for the night. Then the warmth as he spread out his ground cloth and bedroll near me.

"'Night Horsebutt."

I nickered, sadly _::'Night, Apeface. And let's both wish Toothless a good night.::_

"Agreed. Toothless, wherever you are, we have dishonored you. May we meet again so my Turkmene and I can make amends for the pain and loneliness you must feel now."

I nodded in approval. It is our people's way. Our actions, innocent as they were, had helped to cause the one Lightning Breather I truly respect (ssshh.. don't tell him that) to be hurt in his soul, heart and body.

A pause as my Rider collected his thoughts and calmed himself, "But whether or not you may still consider us so, you do have two friends here in the Steppe. You are not alone. May our good wishes fly to your heart, dragon-brother."

My Rider may look like butter would not melt in his mouth, but he has a heart of pure warmth. I nodded at that old Sarmatian blessing, and I wished fervently that it would be so.

Other than a sigh of sleep, the dragon on the rock was silent.

* * *

We made our way west, bringing the Lightning Breather across the steppes. In the process, two more Red Death tails joined the collection sack.

Both instances had involved us saving the Lightning Breather, who kept insisting on plotting the route, not understanding that the routes my Rider and I follow are well established and logical. They are reliable tracks going through the few areas where a dragon and Firemakers could find shelter. So, we had to break off our trail and search until we would find her collapsed on the ground with a Red Death staring her down. Then we'd fight off the Red Death, cut off the venom sack, and then get angry glares for not being fast enough to protect Her Majesty.

I have to say, I was sad when we said goodbye to Toothless, but my Rider and I both were looking forward to sharing a bowl of barley beer when we parted company with our current dragon.

We pointed the direction to her, and she shot off, letting off a ballistic scream of joy because she was finally getting out of the "cursed and horribly deformed" steppe lands and into the bordering steppe forest.

We watched her go. It struck me that she never said "Goodbye".

And, of course, she never said "Thank you."

Then, again, in all the instances we have guided dragons, not one has ever said "Thank You."

But, like always, I reared up and my Rider pumped his fist in a salute of victory and good wishes.

_:: You're welcome, by the way!:: _I thought-sent to the Lightning Breather as she sped, amazingly fast, into the horizon.

My Rider ruffled my sparse mane in affection, "Heh, mare. What is that important lesson of the Sarmatians? Fill in the blank. There's No Such Thing As...?"

I snorted playfully, _::A Boneknapper?::_

A light tap between my ears, "C'mon, _doostam._ You know better than that! Try again!"

I swiveled my ears, _::A free lunch?::_

"Very good, but no beer! Not in this context. C'mon. Third time's the charm!" My Rider laughed.

I started glide-trotting, following along the border, heading north to the general direction of our tribe's camping spot,_ ::Hmmm... how about there's no such thing as gratitude::_

"Bull's Eye!" My Rider laughed, but I could catch the bitterness under his voice, too. "Anyway, home is near, so let's get going, shall we?"

_::Of course, Ape Face:: _And I put myself into a gallop so we would be home faster.

We both were silent in the last leg of the journey, heading towards the general location of where our caravan would be. Our tribe follows established routes, but we never exactly know their travel speed, so sometimes we have to wait for them at the traditional border encampment. We just have to look for the signs, sounds and smells as they approach- or we approach them. Sometimes we even glimpse one of the hunting falcons on its way back to its owner, so we know we are coming nearer.

I was thinking about Toothless, and the role my Rider and I had played in his banishment. I have a feeling my Rider was, too. He was staring straight ahead in his unfocused way, tongue caught between his teeth, the way he does when he is deep in concentration.

Banishment. So, Lightning Breathers banish their own people. But how can this be? Lightning Breathers live solitary lives already. Her Majesty had mentioned something about being crippled and mind locked. Did they actually, physically, cripple him? I laced back my ears at the thought of them breaking his wings or hamstringing his legs. Then, again, poor Toothless had already been crippled, his left aileron ripped off when a North Atlantic Firemaker had shot him down during a raid where the dragon had been doing recon spy work. Toothless couldn't be more crippled than he already was. So, that must have meant they did something to foul up his mind or navigational system.

The way the Lightning Breather had mentioned it, it sounded like it had been cruel and painful. I had been wondering why Toothless had been so incommunicative. Maybe he no longer could no walk the Dreampaths, the communications we Rider and Partner teams can do when we are sleeping. Was he lying in a coma somewhere, broken and abandoned?

And how about that little Firemaker he had bonded with? How had he taken this? Had this affected him? Or had he been able to help my friend? This incident would surely be a test of their bond. A Rider or Partner can sometimes pull his or her opposite out of comas or trances if the bond is serious enough. I know Toothless had been quite cynical about his bond with the Firemaker youth. He had gone into it as a way to subvert the small Firemaker into getting him out of the canyon and, possibly, even doing spy work for him if he could brainwash Hiccup into it.

In the end, the joke had been on Toothless, as the Firemaker had been the one who had shot him down, but he also turned out to have the big, compassionate heart of a true Rider, even if he looked better suited to be a Broomhead slave-scribe. He had immediately accepted responsibility for what he had done, feeding Toothless, healing the injuries from his fall, even creating a fake tail fin that would help the dragon to fly again. Step by step, Toothless had started to realize how nice it was to have a friend like that, and he had been opening up to the youth. He had indicated that they were working together on a system that would allow Toothless to fly when the two worked together as a team. However, my teenaged Lightning Breather friend was still hoping he could teach himself to fly without Hiccup. He still was still a bit hesitant to accept this Hiccup fully as a Rider, not a good sign for poor Toothless surviving that crippling mind torture the snotty Lightning Breather had mentioned..

I just hoped this incident had not shattered that gently strengthening bond.

"You thinking about Toothless and his River Rat?" My Rider's voice floated down to me, and his hand pat my shoulder reassuringly.

_::Hiccup seems like a good kid:: _I sent back, maneuvering us around a large badger burrow in the grass. _::According to Toothless, he does not act like the typical one of his kind.::_

"Mhph!"

_::Yeh, I know you LOVE River Rats.:: _I rolled my eyes, anticipating his next words, usually something involving medium rare cooking and some sort of savory sauce.

My Rider stayed quiet, this time. He had been surprised - and even a bit irritated- that Toothless had bonded with a River Rat. He's not fond of Norsemen- few of us Sarmatians are. They have this annoying habit of kidnapping women and children during their raids and selling them as slaves up and down the rivers bordering the steppe lands.

I stayed quiet, too. My Rider had every bit to be upset about slave traders. Someone very close to him had been sold into slavery during a raid- not by River Rats, but by raiders in a time and place far from here. The Norse River Rats have become the current manifestation of all slave trader evils.

"We just have to hope for the best. We can't do anything on this end," My Firemaker said, finally, as we trotted up a swelling hill, frost-killed grass stalks crunching under my hooves, "It's frustrating, I know. We weren't counting on Toothless' People being so punitive."

There was another stretch of silence as me moved north and west. Most of our riding is actually in silence. Both of us like that. We know we are buddies, and we don't need to fill the moments with Mindspeech conversation. We just enjoy the companionship and the beauty of our Steppe land as it stretches ahead of us, the hills rising and plunging softly into the distance. Some traders during our guide service have mentioned that there is something called an Oh-shun where the water makes a similar motion of rising and falling, but it actually moves, like the hills are stretching out and flattening constantly. Wonder of wonders! Wouldn't someone get dizzy starting at such a strange thing? And where would the grass grow on such a moving surface?

Maybe, someday, I will see one. I have heard, though, it is many months' hard riding west to see an Oh-shun.

I moved across the landscape at the gait of my people, the one that has made us the premier horse in this part of the world for distance trekking. We have long, thin legs that allow us to move with a smooth gliding gait, one very comfortable for Firemakers to sit. We shift our gait between a trot and a walk, taking wide steps that let us cover enormous stretches of distance each day.

As I moved, I remembered how we had met Toothless.

My Rider will complain about it to you if you ask him, but I have a deep rooted obsession, and one that is futile.

I want to out race a Lightning Breather.

I know they are the fastest flying creatures, so I am deluding myself, but yet, can they really maintain that speed for a long time? We've only seen them speed in short bursts, usually when they have been stooping their prey.

How would one of those stack up in a flat land, endurance race against a Turkmene?

I had shared this idea with my Rider. As soon as he stopped laughing- and, later, when he managed to catch his balance to keep from being bucked off my back- he did agree to humor me. But only because he loves flat out racing as much as I do. (What Firemaker does not? I sometimes think this is the underlying glue that brought us together as two People).

He still thinks I am insane for imagining I could beat these speed demons. And, actually, my current goal is not to win but to see how long I can keep my lead over them. There always seems to be a point in my racing them where I do pull ahead. Not sure why that is, but there's a lag and then the Lightning Breather kicks into some sort of "second wind". My Rider is sure it is something called "pride."

So, I started my hobby by challenging every Lightning Breather we would meet to a race. They all snorted at me in indignation and ignored me. So , after that, I skip the formalities and now just start racing them. As soon as I pull ahead, they get mad and want to race me. They overshoot me. Then I overshoot them for a while. Then they, finally, overshoot me and disappear into the distance.

I know I cannot beat them- yet. My current goal is to make that overshoot last as long as possible.

Anyway, one dawn, I challenged a young Lightning Breather to a race by overshooting him. We actually were able to keep ahead of him for a very long time, but I attribute that to his being still an adolescent and not hitting full growth.

What amazed me, though, is he joined the race for fun, not for indignation. That was a change from the usual, and it actually was the first really fun race I had run with a Lightning Breather.

Of course, some stupid gully had to decide to plant itself in front of my Rider and I (why does the scenery always like to barge in where we don't want it?) so the Lightning Breather won, simply because of interference from water and mud.

And gravity.

Later, we encountered the scrawny little Lightning Breather, trapped by the miasma of the Plains. So, we helped him along by linking minds with him and guiding him to our Gritty Pond Encampment for the night.

Right away, I knew he was the most unusual Lightning Breather I had encountered. Yes, he was just as arrogant as they all are, but he had something that I had never seen in my guide work.

A sense of joy of life.

This teenager was on a journey, and it was not a Mission of Great Seriousness and Dire Importance To Complete With the Requisite Dignity in Case Another Lightning Person of Extreme Importance Happens to Be Viewing You.

No, this was a chance for him to see the world, and he was having a blast. I could sense his great curiosity and joy at discovering new sensations and storing them away in his sensors like a Firemaker child collects feathers and creek stones as treasures. They don't seem to have any worth, but for that child they are priceless, because they give her an impression about the world and good memories of that lovely sunny day when the wind was just right and the flowers and grass smelled perfect.

That's a great attitude, because it helps me to see my own everyday life with new eyes. Granted, that young Lightning Breather hated the Steppes, but still his sarcastic comments about them were funny, and he gave them a chance. And gave my Rider and I a chance, for the first time, to be guides and partners, not servants.

My own curiosity was such that, for the first time, I approached a Lightning Breather to chat on the eve of the day we met. My Rider knew I was doing this, but he kept his bow case close, just in case, as he casually cooked his dinner and laid out my evening grain. We both knew he would not be able to fire without being in contact with me, being blind. So, in essence, we were putting ourselves at that little dragon's mercy.

My deep instincts of millions of years of gauging friend or flight, told me I could trust this Lightning Breather.

And they backed me up!

Right away I could see just how young the dragon was- a yearling in my own Turkmene terms- a true adolescent. He still had not lost his baby coloring, so the striped blue black scales were mixed with a pewter grey color. His jumbled coloration looked rather like that of a paint horse. He also was very skinny in the shoulders, wing limbs, hips and legs, resembling a cross between a leopard kitten and a gecko. And he had more black and silver freckle spots than I had ever seen on a Lightning Breather. I had a feeling they would not fade with age, and he would be a regular freckle-face and freckle-wing all his life. He had unusual, grey-green, gold flecked eyes that sparkled with mischief, giving him a very approachable and charming air.

And, I have to admit, he was the first Lightning Breather I could say was not only beautiful and fierce... but also, downright adorable. It was, actually, a very nice combination. (He'd be right annoyed with me for sharing that with you).

This little guy was so bouncy and full of joy, he made me just feel like I had the ability to fly, just by being near him. Yes, he had a cocky air about him, but I also realized right off, there was nothing malicious about it. He was a prankster who loved teasing- and, amazingly, loved just as much to be teased.

I felt right at home with him, and so did my Rider.

Also, he surprised me when he offered to set me free from my Rider. It made me roll in the grass with laughter, but yet it touched me, too. No other Lightning Breather had ever wondered about the welfare of me or my Rider.

The teen Lightning Breather seemed to have been brought up well, with some very good manners and a nice sense of humor. He was an utter pleasure for me and my Rider to be around. During our time together, I often sent a quiet thanks to his unknown parents for bringing up such a charming and helpful Lightning Breather. A bit cocky, yes, but cockiness is something you expect from Lightning Breathers. This teenager actually showed that Lightning Breathers could have a warm heart under all that pride. And he partnered with us as we led him, providing us with some very useful advance scouting. He made our journey west a pleasure, both because we could travel faster and safer, and because he was delightful company.

We enjoyed sassing and teasing each other on our journey west. I called him Freckles, since he had been blessed with so many. He called me Horsebutt, since, I guess, I have been blessed with an excellent one. Unfortunately, my Rider has started to call me that, too, hence my various comparisons between him and and primates. He hates that, but he knows he deserves it.

I know the teen Lightning Breather was stupefied mightily about my willingness to so easily let a Firemaker sit on my back and to wear evil second skins made of leather on my back. And, even worse, to carry Firemaker supplies (though, I admit, a fair amount of that was my own grain, brushes, hoof tools and power-food supplies). We had many discussions about that, as well as about the fact that my Rider and I are Dragons, for real. He found that amusing, until we three all cooperated to deal with a pair of Red Deaths that had leapt over the Temporal Gate. (Yes, they do come over in pairs and, sometimes even complete clutches. Eventually, though, they reach an age where they either scatter their own ways or they duel so that only one member of a clutch survives. I have seen the second option more. Maybe it's their way to ensure the best survives to pass her genetic material on in what is, to them, an alien landscape).

I was glad the dragon could see how my Rider and I could cooperate to become a fighting team, that together we could be more than we could be apart. And he leapt in and lent his wings and claws to help us, too, in that little battle. As I told him, it's not about keeping score, but about teamwork.

When we parted company, my Rider and I had been sorry to see him leave. We'd done the usual farewell, with the rearing up and my Rider pumping his fist. It was a farewell, but the Image Capture device implanted in his glove, caught the last impression of our friend as he flew off.

Later, when the priests downloaded the image and the others we had secretly recorded during the journey, they were very impressed with that Lightning Breather.

"He's special, that one," the one named Dasados told us, "He's unusually perceptive. You did a good job of bringing him over. And of letting him understand there is a benefit to bonding with Firemakers."

"Do you think he might actually bond with a Firemaker- even let one ride him?" my Rider had asked, eagerly. He had not come as close to the snarky freckled teen as I had, but he was still very fond of the scrawny dragon.

"Well, hard to say, young one," the Forge priest had said, letting each of us snatch a piece of honey cake when the other priests were not watching, "But, you got him over the border, and in a very good mindset. I would say, of all the Lightning Breathers who have come over the Steppes in the last year, he seems the most flexible, and the most generous. In the end, only Marha knows, but that dragon is a very good soul."

A beautiful cry sang over the plains, and my Rider and I looked up to see a falcon flying over head, traveling back to her owner.

We now heard the call of the owner, and both of us brightened at the song.

Skuda. One of our Dragon. We were coming close to home.

We followed the path of the falcon. The colors of the ribbons from her claws reaffirmed her handler was Skuda.

As we came down a hill, we saw the falcon land on the outstretched, gloved hand of a mounted Sarmatian warrior. The warrior's horse was a handsome Turkmene with a bright red-brown coat and a black mane, tail, legs and ear points. Like all Turkmenes, his hide seemed to glow with a luminescent sheen, as if lit from an internal lantern.

The Sarmatian Rider already had some meat tidbits to offer the falcon, feeding her and thanking her, even though she had returned empty handed this time. The warrior had the bird hooded as my Rider and I strode up at a fast walk.

As we came up to the Rider and horse and falcon, my Rider raised a hand in greeting and called out in the Firemaker tongue, _" Dorood! Skuda! Kheili vaghte ke azat khabari nist!"_

The other Rider, Skuda, laughed in joy and shouted back, _"Bale, hale shoma chetor ast, Gatalas?"_

Skuda pulled back a woven red hood to show an attractive Sarmatian warrior woman, her thick spill of dark golden air gathered into a high horse tail wrapped at the base with a smaller, coiled braid. Her almond shaped grey eyes sparkled at us as we came side by side. A silvery scar from an old battle wound wound its way down her left temple. It only enhanced her lovely features, as did a small, silver ring in her sharp, straight nose.

I reached out my muzzle to touch the bay gelding. He responded likewise, and we nickered. We are old pals from the time my newly bonded Rider took me back to his tribe.

_::I touch noses with thee. Hey, there, Red Death Mare. Met any of your monstrous cousins, twinkle hooves?::_

_::Heh, you wish you were the Red Death color, laddybuck. Too bad you had to be a boring ,old, acceptable bay color. Anyway, we did meet a few Red Death creatures. Besides me, of course. Ah, so nice to see you, friend. Hope things were good on your sector.::_

_::Just wonderful. We danced with a few Deaths, too. And we met a Boneknapper, too! It was good, overall. It'll be better when we get to the tribal encampment! Nice to see you again, lady! You and your funny coat color.::_

"We're almost home, then!" my Rider called out , as Skuda grabbed his wrist and said his true-name, which she could, as he knew hers.

"I greet you, Gatalas. You, and your mare. We're almost home, but I did see our Dragon Banner fly over the village on the border. It seems there has been an enemy sighted, and our encampment has sent a small part of our Dragon out to meet it. The rest of us Guide Riders have been asked to join, if we are available. That border village is being attacked. They need our help."

My Rider sat back further on me, "Not a dragon attack. Again."

We both had gotten over some minor burns we had gotten from dragons attacking that same village not so long ago on our last entry back from a guiding trip. It was strange for us, since our experience has been dragons do not attack Firemakers. They keep their distance. But something was making them raid this village for Firemaker food.

This was the reason why my Rider- you now know his name among our tribe is Gatalas- and I had asked Toothless for his data. It would help us understand what was going on here. And, in return, we might be able to provide a key to why dragons were attacking the villagers on the islands in Toothless' sector.

The bay Turkmene tossed his head and the falcon stirred on the Rider's arm.

"Not dragons, this time," Skuda said quietly, patting her gelding's neck to reassure him, "This time it's something more refreshing. More fun. A River Rats slave raid, we think."

River Rats.

My Rider- Gatalas- and I exchanged heavy thoughts.

Not dragons, tonight. Nope. We'd be taking on some other prey.

River rats. Also known as Vikings.

* * *

**Some Translations:**

_Doostam- _ Friend, Buddy

_Dorood! Skuda! Kheili vaghte ke azat khabari nist!- _Hey there, Skuda! Long time no see_.  
_

_"Bale, hale shoma chetor ast, Gatalas?" - Yes, and how are you doing, Gatalas?_

_Bale - _Yes

I also put some of these translations and defintions for this story and my other fanfiction "To Soar Into the Sunset" in a glossary in Deviant Art under My Fjord Mustang name. It's in the gallery with HTTYD Fanction and Chapter 17


	2. We Also Ride Dragons!

**Chapter 2: "—We Also Ride Dragons!"**

"An armed society is a polite society"- R.A. Heinlein, _Beyond this Horizon_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Boneknappers or Gronckles- but they would not fit in my apartment anyway.

On to the second chapter! This chapter is an important one because it shows the way the rest of the world views Vikings and why our Sarmatians are considered such fearsome warriors.I do have to warn you the Vikings are the bad guys in this chapter. There were really two types of Vikings: the explorers and pioneers, like those in Berk, and the more infamous raiders who would sack villages for gold and slaves. Vikings from East Scandinavia would head for Eastern Europe and Russia, and their long boats were designed to easily navigate rivers like the Dnieper.

This chapter has the raiding variety of Viking. Since it involves some battling, there is more violence than I usually have in my stories. I toned it down a lot, but I still had to show that warfare and raids were a fact of life for both the Sarmatians and their village allies.

* * *

"Vikings! Vikings! Aieeeeee! Vikings!"

The little dark-haired boy tore down the road, shrieking at the top of his lungs, scattering chickens, geese and bystanders. A flock of pigeons exploded up into the trees that were now starting to become more and more numerous as we moved further from the border.

The village grownups saw him tear past and looked up at the approaching soldiers. Then they sighed and went back to their various chores.

"Our reputation proceeds us. I love it when the kids do that," one of the Firemakers in our Ravaging Roughnecks Dragon unit said, as we observed our little messenger alert the village.

Pretty soon we had a fair crowd of villagers clustered in a ring as our unit splashed our way through the muddy main road (if you want to call it that). Bordering the tree lined, soupy road were those strange wooden wagons without wheels. They were made of logs cleverly fastened together. The tops were made of some blanket involving hay and tar (What a waste of hay! If a Turkmene could cry... sigh. Firemakers).

The lack of wheels was rather creepy. I never felt comfortable seeing these strange things, the fastened down broken wagons called "howsz." They seemed more like a tomb to me. Why would you want to lock your wagon down and be a prisoner when you can wander the plains and be free all your life?

Unlike my Sarmatian Firemakers, these villagers seem to have some strange wish for death. Why else would they want to fasten down their wagons and turn them into tombs? Everyone knows when you stop wandering, then you are longing for the after-world. These people chose to live in a half living and half dead existence. No wonder the River Rats find them so easy to steal for slaves! They already wanted to be dead!

Crazy Firemakers! Still, this strange encampment of tombs is made of friends. We protect them against River Rats and, more recently, against those strange food-stealing dragons. Our Firemakers trade the beautiful Sarmatian tapestries, carpets, horse tack and jewelry for food supplies we cannot grow on the plains. That includes the barley and oats that we Turkmenes need for our Protein Mix.

The locals have given their living tomb a name in their language. Translated into Sarmatian, from what I pick up in my Rider's mind, it would be "Smack Dab in the Middle of Nowhere." (aka Nowheresville)

The little boy's sturdy mother had calmed her son down and was explaining something in the villagers' rolling, fluid local language, gesturing at us.

The boy stuck a dirty fist in his mouth and sucked at it. He glanced at us in caution and buried his face in his mother's apron front, perhaps thinking it made him invisible to the "Vikings".

I snorted in amusement,_ ::We love you too, Firemaker foal.::_

We get this reaction a lot, and it's understandable. Vikings-River Rats-are much better known in this steppe forest area than we Sarmatians. Our Firemakers just happen to resemble Vikings quite a bit, at least from a distance. Our Riders are tall and strong, with long, braided fair or red hair, and blue, grey or light brown eyes. Most of our men have full beards, though few of grow them long enough to braid. The Dragon Unit Firemakers also happen to wear similar peaked helmets as Vikings, but Sarmatian helmets are decorated with a scale pattern to resemble dragon hide.

The Scepter Holder of our Dragon unit was talking to the village headman, a dark complected, well-built sort, who gestured towards the distant shining bow of the Dānu apara, the River on the Far Side. We knew that River Rats liked to put their big floating animal-headed wagons in the Dānu apara river. When they reached one of these villages of parked wagons, they would hide their floating animal-headed wagons and themselves. During the evening, they would leap from their water wagons and raid the villages, stealing women and children to be slaves, and killing the men. Then they would loot the villages for gold, coins, jewelry.

Being on the edge of the Great Steppe, Nowheresville had great potential since so we led so many merchant caravans here to restock supplies. You could see it in the finer fabrics and intricate Eastern jewelry gleaming here on there on the residents. They also were able to afford nice, golden items to put in their octagonal meeting place, marked by a large tree with two cross poles.

This sort of thing must be a grand target for River Rats. I so often do wonder why Settled Firemakers like to promote that they are ripe and ready for the raiding. You should keep your treasures hidden in plain wagons and yurts, not put up a special building with that wooden-crossed tamga rune that probably means, "Yoohoo, River Rats! Raid me, please!"

The Scepter Holder and the village headman talked on as the villagers continued to cluster around us.

Some Turkmenes, newly graduated from battle training tossed their heads at the now-crowding villagers, earning hisses from the rest of us.

_::Stop acting like a horse, will you? You're a Turkmene, for the Sky Lady's sake! Or at least pretend like you're one, please.::_

Our Dragon Unit is made up of smaller squadrons, each led by a captain. The whole Unit had not come, leaving most of the Dragon behind to protect the caravans and patrol the borders for those strange food-raiding dragons. We just had the three divisions here, including the one Gatalas and Skuda were in, the Sandspitters.

Skuda, Gatalas and we two horses had walked past the twin poles arrayed with Red Death skulls, following the Dragon banner we saw streaming in the air over the village. Once we crossed those poles, we were out of the Steppes and in the Steppe forest of settled folk.

As we walked, we fell in with other Sandspitter troops who had volunteered to come over to help stop this Viking raid. And our squadron fell in with two others who had migrated over to follow the Banner.

By the time we hit the village entrance, we had all sorted ourselves into our respective squadrons and were now a small-but united- force of Ravaging Roughnecks.

Our fellow soldiers- we Sarmatians call ourselves _azatani_- whispered among themselves, as Gatalas and I quietly listened. My Rider did not understand the language of this region, so it was not worth the effort to eavesdrop.

"What are they saying?" a red haired Sarmatian asked, pulling on the end of one of his side braids.

"Dunno. I don't speak Slavic. Why doesn't he speak Khazar? I can muddle by in that! Well, at least, I know not to walk into the 'Ladies'." this was from a middle aged Sarmatian who scratched his black Turkmene mare affectionately on her shoulder. She leaned into him, begging him to scratch harder.

"Will you two please be quiet?" Skuda hissed, using one hand to reassure her falcon and the other to calm my irritated bay Turkmene friend with a stroke on his neck.

She was one of the three _azatani_ answering this Dragon Banner call who were female. We don't have a lot of women soldiers like we had in the ancient days, when a woman had to kill a foreign warrior in fair combat before she was eligible to marry. Just before the Crossing, women did not become Dragon soldiers, though every woman is a warrior, trained in light weapons, archery and mounted tactics to help protect our caravan. The Broom-head troops who attacked our caravans learned how good our women are in combat. Those that survived, praised them by referring to Sarmatian women as savage, tattooed, shrieking demons. (Well, they used another, less flattering word than demons, but I won't get into that.)

After the Crossing, our Scepter Holder again encouraged single women to join the unit. In this Timeline, we were a small force on a huge steppe. We needed all the hands we could get to deal with these strange temporal invaders like the Red Deaths. So, once again, women rode with the Dragon.

Gatalas had leaned against me and sighed through his teeth. He ran a hand through his tangled, dusty plait of greasy, pale blond hair. Skuda had kindly braided his tangled blond hair up for him before we had joined the others of the Dragon Unit. I could mind-sense Gatalas' fond wish for a proper steam bath and hair wash.

Eventually our Scepter Holder came back to us, raising a hand to us to be quiet, "All right, Ravaging Roughnecks, members of my Dragon! Seems some of the local fishermen saw two 'Rat-boats' out on the Dānu apara this morning. They're probably moving on foot on their way here, now- waiting to attack Nowheresville after the first watch. It's a small group- no more than a century. We're small, too, but we can take 'em. After the last dragon raids, this should be no more than light exercise for us. But we'll still treat this with all caution."

There were sad murmurs among our squadron, and some soft snorts from Turkmenes. This was very true. The hardest battles we had fought here in this Timeline have been taking on the food raiding dragons to protect this village. We won, but only just- and mainly because we used the land and tactics to our advantage. Plus, those strangely ensorcelled dragons seemed off their game. But it still hurt to defeat them.

It felt like we were killing our own brothers and sisters.

"Of course, it's not light exercise for our allies. We're protecting their families and their properties. We all know these River Rats own slaves, and they make a handsome profit from trading them, too.

"As you know, the River Rats are not used to much resistance in this region. They are a people who very superstitious, and we have something they don't have."

Our golden prince folded his arms against his chest in satisfaction, "We have dragons. And it's time to become them. Suit up, lads."

* * *

"What is _he_ doing here?" the angry call cut through the sounds of Turkmenes chewing hay rations and Firemaker's armor being donned, "I specifically asked for him not to be on this mission."

I knew that tone and could not help pinning my ears back, though I would never dream of humiliating my Rider by showing any more displeasure to this man. He _was_ our new squadron captain, after old Borysthenes had been killed in the last dragon raid.

A handsome, straw-haired man with noble, hawk-like features strode up to where Gatalas was combing my tail, sectioning it into three parts.

Gatalas looked up respectfully, but his blind eyes could not meet our squadron captain's directly, which probably made him look unintentionally insolent.

The captain shifted, and he met my Rider's clouded, pale eyes with his own piercing steel-blue ones.

Around us, Firemakers stopped talking and watched what my Rider would do next.

"I was just coming back from a guide mission, lord, with a Lightning Breather," Gatalas, said, dropping my tail, "So, I did not get word that I shouldn't respond to the Banner. I still request permission to participate. We are not a big force, and my unit brothers and sisters can vouch that my horse and I pull our weight."

A soft course of "Ayes" and "_Bal_e" and "He speaks the truth" rippled through our sector. They had trained with us, hunted with us, fought with us. And Gatalas and I had saved more than a few of their hides. As they had saved ours, too, but we did not keep score on who saved whom. Dragons do that. We may quarrel and even get into off duty brawls with the other Dragon units about whose Dragon is better, but we stick up for our own_ azatani _brothers faithfully.

"On the steppes, maybe," Our new captain said in the distinctive accent of his Roxalani people.

He flicked some dust from his scaled uniform, "But this is steppe forest. And twilight. It's different terrain. His blindness could work against us all."

"The darkness would probably hinder him least of us, sir," Skuda said, trying to keep the ice out of her voice, "He has-"

"Silence, trooper!" our leader said, his voice calm but full of warning, "I did not ask you to speak. I make the decisions for the Sandspitters, and if I deem our safety is compromised, then I have the right to ask a trooper not to participate."

He pointed again at Gatalas, ready to say something.

"Rasparagnus!" Our Scepter Holder's voice made the Roxalani leader's arm freeze in place.

"Yes, Prince Banadaspos."

Banadaspos of the Iazyges, Scepter Holder and commander of our Dragon, said nothing more as he walked by, leading his war mare. He just shook his head solemnly and kept a level gaze at Rasparagnus.

No more needed to be implied. His decision was final, and he had seen Gatalas and I in action.

Rasparagnus dropped his hand and nodded at my Rider, "Carry on, all. As you were."

I just felt relief that Gatalas could not see the expression in our squadron leader's eyes as that man moved onward, passing through the Sandspitters. He was furious that he was forced to keep the handicapped Gatalas in his unit. From the start, he had made it clear he felt Gatalas and I were the weakest link in the Sandspitter chain.

Like most Firemakers he was very complex, making it hard for me to condemn him meriting a kick in the nether regions. When he was not dealing with Gatalas and I, I noticed he was quite a good leader. I could see him now, talking to his new charges as he wandered among them, often with a friendly expression, a word of praise, a pat on the back. The troops responded to him with respect, and he seemed to take a genuine interest in each trooper. I could see why Banadaspos would have wanted to have this man as our new Sandspitter Unit commander.

He did not seem an unfair leader, overall. But he seemed to have great concern about including a blind man among our archery unit. That put me on edge. We had done nothing, but already Gatalas and I had a mark against us.

No one said anything more about the incident, and we continued preparing ourselves. Gatalas worked on my tail, again. With help from a fellow member of our unit, he braided my reddish-brown tail into a thick rope, and then split that into two smaller braids. He then wrapped a scaled-leather cord around the the base of my tailbone. It now resembled something reptilian, the loose ends where the two, smaller braids were ied off flowing like a Lightning Breather's ailerons.

Now Gatalas pulled off his outer coat and armed himself, letting me finish my hay ration. He pulled sturdy, yet pliable, leather trousers over his usual loose riding ones. These trousers were layered with overlapping dragon scales around the outer legs, excellent protection against Firemaker spear and arrow.

Next, he pulled on a leather cuirass over his head, securing it around his torso with a scaled belt in the form of a serpentine dragon. This was a breastplate that fell to mid thigh, split up the sides to help my Rider twist easily in the saddle. It had sleeves that came to about Gatalas' elbows. These were more thickly layered with dragon scales, overlapping to provide excellent protection. In the old days, our Firemakers had made the scales from the hooves of Turkmenes, collected when my battle sisters had passed on from this life. After the Crossing, we had actual dragon scales that our priests collected from dragons.

Somehow, our priests had gained access to the molting areas where we gather up the beautiful but sturdy dragon scales for our armor. Several times a year, a priest would depart the Steppe-lands with a bodyguard of soldiers and non-Turkmene pack horses to gather up scales from these secreted shedding grounds. Dragons generally keep their distance from us, but they did seem to allow our priests that courtesy.

Maybe it is their way of thanking us for helping their important Lightning Breathers over the steppe-lands. However, I should add, these scales are not from Lightning Breathers. Mostly they are from Sandspitters, Self Burners, Magnesium People, Lava People and Side Stranglers.

I had finished my hay ration, so now my Rider could unsaddle me and give me a quick rubdown. Then he unrolled and shook out a light leather horse blanket beautifully layered with protective Sandspitter dragon scales. They had been arranged to duplicate the brown and gold chevron mosaics of an actual Sandspitter's hide. Gatalas wrapped it around me, tying it in front with sturdy leather cords at the neck and chest. I helped him, shifting my body so the ties would fall in his hands. Leaning against me, he could pick up my eyesight enough that he could accomplish the job. His fingers, also well trained from habit, knew the patterns so that he made good, tight knots.

The armored blanket was lightweight, but it was good protection. It covered my chest and allowed me to stretch my legs easily as I ran or jumped in battle.

Gatalas tacked me up, again, now clipping the saddle and the neck harness to hooks on the blanket.

Rubbing the white blaze-mark on my face and tickling my muzzle gently, Gatalas fastened on the finishing touch: my chamfron. This was a protective leather head-guard, again dragon-scaled, but this time with efficient, beautifully-crafted bronze ones. Raised "bowls" around my eyes protected them from projectiles.

Our Forge Priest who designs our armor had done this beautifully, decorating the eye guards so they protected me and did not impede my vision but, from a distance, I looked like I had the golden-green slit pupiled eyes of a Sandspitter dragon. The chamfron also included protective forehead guards that resembled a pair of Sandspitter's forked sensors and two small, spiraled, red and black horns jutting from the brow. Finally, the part that protected my muzzle imitated a Sandspitter's dragonesque one with its hooked nostril-fangs. With all signs of "horse' now covered, I had become a small, but fierce, Sandspitter.

My Rider tied his lovingly embroidered and painted _gorytos_ - the leather case containing his bow and arrows - around his belt on his left side. He pulled on his wrist guards, shaking his hands to make sure they well-covered the backs of them.

Finally, he wrapped his braid up in a knot behind his head and put on his iron plated helmet. It was a simple, peaked helmet with a small point on the top. He ran his hand over the scaled-leather side guards, making sure they were secure to protect his face and throat.

_::Comfortable?:: _he Mindsent to me, running a hand over my harness and blanket to make sure all was secure but not painfully tight.

_::Marvelously, so, Rider. If I had wings and could breathe fire, I'd feel just perfect!::_

We were ready, and so, too, were our colleagues.

Normally we would have marched to the sound of a kettle drum, but we did not want to advertise our presence to the River Rats.

Headed by Rasparagnus on his war mare, thirty golden-brown Sandspitter dragons glided up to the village green, scaled Riders on our backs.

In front of us was a young Sarmatian man, shoulder length light brown hair, rippling beneath his helmet. He sat on a red and bronze Sauromatae Draco, the dragon of our mythical homeland, a lean, wolf-headed creature with sharp fangs and a poisoned tongue. Except for the bay-and-black legs and hooves, there was almost no sign this was not an actual dragon. The youth was our Banner-man, so his horse always showed the traditional dragon we had used as our totem before the Crossing.

He held up the Sauromatae Dragon Banner, a snarling, gold plated bronze dragon head sculpted by the Forge Priest. It was mounted on a deep red pole. A crown-like ridge of horns graced its wolfish head, completed with sharp fangs and a deadly, flowing red ribbon of tongue, actually coated in scythion. The dragon's legless, snakelike body flowed in a narrowing ribbon of silk behind the bronze head. The evening breeze from the river caused the body to ripple in ruby and bronze in a beautiful, serpentine manner.

We were joined on our left by emerald green, blue and gold Side Stranglers, scaled protective "beards" dripping from their fanged muzzles. Their equine-headed, sinuous, four-legged form suits the Turkmene body shape well, so it was no surprise villagers watching them oohed in pleasure upon seeing them as they glided into position.

We were lucky enough to have one squadron of heavy cavalry with us. We heard them as they trotted into place, heavier-set Turkmenes (we Turkmenes are not all skinny fishbones) who wore thicker armor and could support heavy lances. These were Lava Breathers: magnificently armored, and brutal in appearance, but devoted and loyal to our Scepter Holder. Lava Breathers are rare in this region, but they have symbolic power to our Dragon unit. They represent strength and power and the ability to maneuver well- all vital skills for a heavy cavalryman. Their boar like general shape evokes that savage animal's ferocity and cleverness. Wild pigs - and, more recently Lava Breathers- are a common motif in our Firemaker art to honor their strength.

The unit's Draco banner's tail kicked in the wind, along with its silky tongue, as the villagers murmured in admiration. They never got enough of seeing us in our dragon armor.

A gleam of ivory, and then a graceful Boneknapper strode to the front of our Dragon , positioning itself near the Banner Holder. This was a dragon that never failed to creep out Firemakers who were not Sarmatians. We, of course, were mightily impressed with Boneknappers' macabre and yet noble appearance. (We tend to find such creepy things quite charming- there's nothing cuter than a horned skull motif to brighten up a perky floral painting on your wagon wall). This is one of the species Sarmatians have encountered in the Steppes, as they often migrate very long distances across the continent in search of dead dragon bones to use as body armor. They seem somewhat competitive about finding bones before their colleagues do, so that is why many of them brave the Steppes. They have even been known to use Red Death bones, hence we will leave the bones scattered on the steppes for them.

Gatalas and I have never seen one on our journeying, but they must be quite amazing to view. They don't communicate often with Sarmatians, but they have let us guide them. They won't hurt us, but they want to be left alone for the most part. Pity, I'd love to know how they get those bones secured onto their hides.

This smaller replica of a Boneknapper had bone colored legs and hooves, and the eyes under the chamfron were a surreal shade of blue-green.

Farna is not albino. She is a cremello, a rare shade for a Turkmene- or any type of horse. It suits the Boneknapper coloring beautifully. She is older than many of us, having bonded with Banadaspos later than most Turkmenes bond with a Rider. I think because of this she has a calmness and bearing that we all wish we had.

She is a true Scepter Holder's Partner.

Her Rider, armed with his princely cuirass and a helmet topped by a flowing, crimson-dyed mare's tail, raised up his spear.

"Let's go trap some River Rats, shall we?" he called to us.

* * *

Hooves pacing in the night, moving softly through a forest trail strewn with muffling needles. The moon poked through the trees with banners of pale light.

Farna cleverly picked her way so she was under these beams as much as possible, becoming invisible in the ivory glow.

Sarmatians, traditionally, do not attack by night, so this was something new we had to learn after the Crossing- that also included blending into the cover of darkness. We moved silently and swiftly, falling back on our training. A vital lesson of any cavalry is to learn to move at one pace. We Turkmenes are varying heights, so each sister or brother needs to develop her or his movements to match the standard hoof beat pace. And to do it quietly. It took moons of training with Rider and Turkmenes in unison to get that pace down, but it was a vital one. Now we could all shift into this fluid, two beat gait automatically, eating up to ten miles an hour if we need to. We had fallen into single file, eyes nervously darting for raiders jumping from trees. Sweep archers at the back trained bows on our flanks- just in case.

Luckily, we Turkmenes scented no Firemakers other than our own.

I could, though, smell the coppery, boggy smell of the Dānu apara very well, now. Leaves and pine needles blew through the trees as, far ahead of us, Farna stepped into a moon beam, going invisible again. We all halted under the cover of the pine and birch thicket, the sweet pine scents masking our own. I picked up a thought transmission from Farna, :_:Banadaspos wants a report, Bond-sister to Gatalas::_

I passed the message to my rider, and Gatalas stood straighter on his saddle pad, nostrils flared and head cocked. After a few moments, he relaxed again in the saddle.

_::They're heading this way, but still in the open, though. Good for us. I can hear the creaking of leather armor, but, oddly, not much chain mail. Then, again, they may have muffled it.:: _ he thought-sent to me. Farna sent this on to her Rider.

:_:Heh,::_ Gatalas added with wry humor, _::They have horses. Some are on horses! How in the name of all that is crazy would they get them onto those long boats? Two of them are on horses, from the hoof beats. Stallions, I'd warrant.::_

Figures. Most Firemakers seem to think the best war horses are stallions, and they are, indeed very powerful beasties. We Sarmatians know that calm, yet energetic, well-trained mares make the best war steeds. (Sarmatians also highly value geldings as war steeds, too, like Skuda's bay fellow.)

Some mumbling through the ranks. Fighting on horseback was always a bit of extra fun. Especially when you have a psychological advantage.

_::Ladies,::_ Farna group-sent to all of us Turkmenes, _::Is anyone in heat tonight?::_

:_:I am, sister! I could really kick some teeth out now- while eating honey covered pickles. And I _HATE_ pickles!::_ I heard the roan Turkmene mare behind me send back with an ironic toss of her head. A few other mares chimed in that they were in season, too.

_::Oh, goodie.:: _Farna nickered softly, _::Let the fireworks begin.::_

We moved out of the tree cover and started down a hill where, far, far below us we could see the Dānu apara glinting in the moonlight. No sign of the Animal Head water wagon, but it would have been hidden well.

Too bad the River Rats could not say that about themselves. They were moving up the grassy hill toward our covert, traveling rather loudly and with confidence. Most were on foot, but there were, indeed, two River Rats on medium-sized, powerful horses with thick, feathery hooves. One 'Rat rode in front, a long spear tilted casually over his shoulder, a decorated shield secured to his stallion's saddle. The other rider moved in the back, flanking the foot Vikings. None of them held their weapons ready for attack. Everything about them smacked of confidence. Of course, they were some distance from the village yet, but no Sarmatian would have that easygoing air about them.

The resistance in this region must be laughable or the River Rats were just that good at their sneaky night raids that they could afford to be casual.

Probably both. I had to remind myself that these were not the typical Viking warriors who met in combat soldier to soldier. These were raiders and pirates- opportunists who struck with surprise and fled into the night. They preyed on those who could not fight back: women and children and clergy.

It was a gamble toss at this point whether they would be skilled in battle or not.

I was a bit surprised that they did not have horns on their head. It really would have fit them as demons much better. Toothless had said his Firemakers are Vikings, and they have horns on their head. He did mention during one of our Dream Path discussions that he had seen Vikings in his journey to the North Atlantic, and they did not have horns, so maybe ones in his region- some place that sounds like Bark or Brak or Boof or Barf or something- they have horns.

A mutation in the species, obviously.

Banadaspos divided us into our three respective squadrons. The Lava Breathers Heavy Cavalry stayed near the trees, and we Sandspitters, having the darkest dragon-armor, were sent to move in a quiet circle that looped down the hill toward the river and then along its banks. Our cavalry gait training and dark hides paid off, as we moved silently, our agile hooves negotiating nimbly down the slick grass and loose rocks of the slope.

Gatalas leaned back on me, helping take the weight off my shoulders so I could move down the hill easier. I sent him a quiet thanks and followed my bay gelding friend, who was stepping down the hill in a way that would make a mountain sheep jealous. Plumes of steam trickled from his nostrils, curling silently into the frigid night air.

I had to hand it (well, more likely, hoof it) to Rasparagnus. He must have studied the sloped terrain well, because he chose a path that took us well out of the range of the Vikings, yet still gave enough purchase for our hooves so that we did not stumble much.

I could hear the River Rats' voices now as we silently passed them on their distant left, floating to us, a sing song, growling sort of language. There was laughter in there, too. I could also smell them, as well. They reeked of sweat and smoke and iron and blood. Obviously those floating wagons did not contain steam bath facilities. And I could tell fish was a big part of their diet.

_::There is a woman with them:: _Gatalas thought sent to me :_:I hear lighter steps, and a woman's weeping. I think they have a hostage.::_

He sighed, sadly. That was a point score to the Vikings. Fighting would be harder if a helpless woman prisoner was among them. But there are often hard choices to make in battles- our ultimate goal was to protect our allies in Nowheresville.

Suddenly, the shaggy Viking stallion in back, a solid black brute, raised his head and whinnied stridently. His nostrils flared.

_::Mare in season. Me want her. Now! Now! Where is willing mare? Come to me! Me, Real Stud! You want me!:: _

He started to grunt in irritation and pull at the nasty looking iron in his mouth. He reared up, but the Viking on his back slammed him hard between the ears with a gauntled hand.

The stallion dropped back to all fours,shaking his shaggy head in dazed surprise, _::Bully! Mean, stinky Firemaker. Me bite you bad when you get off. You see, then you plenty scared of me. Maybe.:: _He screamed again::_ Mare! Mare! Come to me now, mare! If I neigh loud enough you come. Me know this. Me sexy beast. OWWW! No punch me again, Firemaker! Me obey you. For now. Then me bite you bad when you get... oh, me thought that already. Mare! Mare!:: _

Behind me, the roan in heat sighed and shook her head. I echoed her. It's most painful being reminded of, well, just how_ stupid _ non Turkmene horses are. I sometimes am amazed we are the same species.

As we rode down towards the beach, I did see that there was a sturdy burlap sack tied behind the cantle of the stallion's saddle. Its shape was lumpy and even a bit pointed at the ends- not the typical one you'd expect from a tent or a bed roll.

We were well below the River Rats, now, out of scent range. The Viking stallion calmed down just as quickly as fire stops when water is poured on it.

Rasparagnus now turned our route to the right, bringing us parallel to the river. By now our hooves were starting to feel a pull from the river bog, but we experience this on the steppes quite often in the spring. So we lifted our hooves higher, and our Riders automatically shifted their weight to help us along.

We were behind the River Rats now.

_::Go invisible:: _ Rasparagnus' mare sent to us, and all of us Sandspitter Turkmenes lowered our heads to the ground, huddling into our selves. The small swell of hill in front of us, hopefully, concealed us further.

Then, I believe Rasparagnus had his mare send on a transmission to the other squadrons that we were in place. The Riders have greatly benefitted from our increased Bond since we made the Crossing. They now have a way of sending orders that we did not have in the old days, when we had to rely on signal fires.

All was in place. I heard the tense, humming _thrum_ as arrows were nocked against bow strings. I could not suppress a quiet thought of pride as I noticed that Gatalas had his bow strung and nocked right in unison with everyone else

Rasparagnus glanced at Gatalas and I and, actually, gave a nod of approval.

_::Tell your Riders we must all stay together Do not run out from the formation. We may be scattered, but do all possible to stay as a unit. Make your way back to the group if you are so scattered.:_: our Roxalani leader's war mare sent to us, communicating her Rider's command to our squadron, :_:Rasparagnus wants us to be as one. We are the SANDSPITTERS!::_

I passed my message to Gatalas and felt his warm pat of approval on my neck. It made total sense. All along, we Sarmatians' greatest strength was in our ability for many to move as one, just our priests say that a war pod of dragons moves as one under the command of their Fire Drake.

Then we watched the River Rats move higher up the hill toward our fellow _azatani._

Suddenly...

A ghostly, wingless Boneknapper rose up on ivory hind legs, and the dragon scaled knight on its back hefted a spear high.

Echoing cries resounded a chorus to his challenge.

"_Marha! Marha! Marha!_" The Sarmatian Firemaker cry to their god of Fire shattered through the calm night.

The River Rats startled as a line of armored human archers on blue-green, smooth-scaled dragons shot down the hill toward them. Steam breath curled out of the dragons' forked nostrils and glints of moon light picked out red reflecting tiles on their beard tentacles, making them look like they were, indeed, spitting fire.

In front of them flew a proud, bronze dragon head banner on a pole, red snakelike body soaring behind it in the wind. As the wind blew down its jaws and ratcheted out through the body, the dragon let out a roar that sounded, surprisingly, like a real dragon's.

We heard seriously surprised shouts that sounded like "Dreh! Kahr! Ektadrehkar! Helveetees! Oh- Thin! Thor!" and then the River Rats clumped together into a ragged formation, shields up, swords out.

Smelling the Side Strangler mares who were in heat, both the stallions starting plunging and circling in place, their riders adding their own swears as they slammed back on the reins, almost crushing the stallions' jaws with the enormous bits attached to the reins.

The Vikings had been thoroughly taken by surprise. After all, most River Rats don't seriously expect to met by a cavalry of dragons. But they are Vikings and, therefore, don't give in to fear easily. They roared at the Side Stranglers and launched at them, waving swords and shields. A woman's scream of despair floated among their attack yells.

They were left disappointed, for suddenly the galloping Side Stranglers, calling to Marha and howling like wolves and Magnesium Breathers, veered off sharply to the right, leaving the River Rats unharmed. Several Sarmatian Firemakers were even yelling the call of Retreat.

The whole unit fled from the River Rats, galloping away in sheer, unadulterated fear.

The River Rats watched, stunned, and then let out cheers of victory upon seeing the Side Stranglers had fled in retreat. A few Vikings even raised their shields and tossed them in the air. Their Viking demeanor, terrifying armor and shouted charge had scared my compatriots off, obviously.

And, just as obviously, they had never fought against an armed cavalry like ours. Or they would have known what to expect.

Such as, well, the famous Parthian shot. The Side Stranglers' dragon-horses galloped away, but their Firemaker Riders suddenly twisted back completely around in the saddles and expertly fired back at the Vikings.

All the arrows found a mark, mostly in shields. A few Vikings screamed in pain, though, as they were bitten by arrowheads.

The Side Stranglers' Turkmenes spun around, beautifully in unison, and were galloping back towards the River Rats, their archers firing off a second volley of arrows. They split in two, veering around the River Rats on both sides, treating them to a flurry of arrows in two directions.

Cries of anger volleyed between the two Firemaker peoples.

"Marha! Marha! Marha!"

"Fooin Dreh! Kar! Ei skal hoykva! O-THIN! THOR! TEER!"

"No, fools! It's Marha! Marha! And he rides a great scaled dragon! Not like your puny gods who ride mangy wolves and smelly goats!"

"O-THIN! DYOO-FLAR! TRAND-ARE! THOR!"

"Cowards who steal innocent people for slaves and attack by night! You disgrace your own kind! Vikings are supposed to be brave and honorable!"

The River Rats were now realizing easiest way out was to run downhill, back towards the river. Of course, when some of the Vikings took that option, they discovered that we Sandspitters happened to be in the way, blocking their path of retreat.

Rasparagnus dropped his gauntleted right fist, and we all launched forward, our Firemakers screaming "Marha! Marha! Marha!"

Shooting uphill is not the easiest to do, but our Riders have trained for that, twisting their supple bodies to catch the best angle. We Turkmenes keep our heads level and straight out, giving our Riders a clearer shot. I was so proud of Gatalas that he picked up coordinates from my own side based vision and was able to fire off to the side rather than straight on, firing at angles sighted riders could not. And all of his arrows made a mark in shield-wood or human flesh.

Now the River Rats were being attacked by a constant volley of arrows. Those that were hit, were also learning about that lovely thing we coat on the arrow tips. Several already were on the ground, howling from the poison. We don't put much on the arrows we intend for Firemakers, but it's still enough to be very effective.

But those on their feet, still, fought with their people's legendary courage. They charged with swords and shields. The few with spears threw them at us, but only one Sarmatian was knocked off his Sandspitter gelding, and the spear just glanced harmlessly off his dragon scale cuirass. The Sarmatian rolled to his feet. He whistled to his Turkmene who was instantly by his side, lashing at River Rats with his sharp yellow teeth as the rider leapt back on. As Vikings swarmed both horse and rider, the Sarmatian must have given his Partner a thought message. Suddenly the gelding did the Leap of the Goat, jumping into the air and kicking out with his powerful back legs. He caught a Viking behind him in the chest, sending the Firemaker crashing back with, doubtless, broken ribs. As he thudded to the ground, his rider already had an arrow to fire off at the Viking in front, who only barely missed it.

The Leap of the Goat is something we mares rarely can do. Geldings have the more powerful hindquarters for this, and they take great pride in protecting us all with that maneuver. It takes long hours of training and is considered the most difficult of battle steed moves.

The two dark colored Norse stallions were now quite uncontrollable, vacillating between panic and desire for our mares in heat. If they were not trying to buck off their riders, they were trying to grab the bit in their teeth and pull the reins out of their riders' hands. This was the perfect distraction, since the riders could no longer command their men. The invasion was dissolving into lots of little fights rather than a concerted effort to fight as one Viking unit.

We were galloping around the River Rats and they leapt at us, trying to get us at close range and dismount our riders. Our _azatani _can fight dismounted quite well, thank you, using swords and even just with holding a rope and dagger, but they still prefer to fight from horseback when possible.

This meant we Turkmenes were now targets, and Vikings were waving arms and capes and screaming in our faces. It works with most horses because they can spook easily and let a foot soldier drag off a mounted warrior. Or they will rise up and rear in fright, exposing their vulnerable belly to a foot soldier's sword.

Our training has focused a lot on making Turkmenes as spook- proof as possible. And on teaching us to fight, too. When a burly blond warrior with a fierce nose guard helmet tried to pull Gatalas by grabbing his left leg and dragging him off, I sent my Rider a message to be ready with his arrow. Then I snaked my head around and caught the man's leather clad hand in my mouth. He growled at me and just pulled harder on Gatalas' leg. So I shook his hand and then bit down really hard, putting my weight behind it. I felt hand bones crack in my jaws. The River Rat screamed in his pain. His blue eyes widened in agony as his hands fell from my Rider's thigh. He was stunned that this skinny, costume-playing fishbone of a horse would have broken his hand. Then he opened a mouth crowned with blackened teeth. Something hummed in the air above us, and blood started to spill out of his mouth and he slumped down, an arrow sticking from his throat. I let go the hand and the River Rat slumped to the ground, his raiding and slave trade days a thing of the past.

_::Thanks, Bond-sister.:: _ my Rider tilted his bow back and nudged me away from the Viking, sending my galloping towards our compatriots.

I heard a shrill, ululating cry and saw Skuda and her red-bay gelding going after the dark stallion who had been at the back of the Viking formation- the one with the strange bag tied to his saddle cantle. The slender bay gelding was able to catch up to the shaggy dark stallion with little difficulty, like a smaller kestrel harrying a great eagle. The stallion tried to bite the smaller gelding and get him to fight, but the bay Turkmene did not take the bait.

A lasso flew through the air and settled around the River Rat commander's throat. Skuda and her gelding must have exchanged thoughts, for the stalwart horse skidded to a halt, his hindquarters digging into the ground. Skuda shifted her weight, helping her Partner balance himself as she pulled back on the lasso.

The dark Viking horse continued running ahead, so the force of Skuda's rope and her Partner's sliding stop pulled the River Rat commander right off of his stallion. He fell to the ground, howling curses and pulling at his throat, the rope now choking him off.

I saw Skuda unsheathing her sword and raising it for the blow of Final Mercy, singing her song of honor to a respected foe.

The I was distracted by thundering hooves.

Right on time, the third unit came thundering down the hill, our Lava Breather spear throwers. We archers moved back, galloping for the sides where we could harry any fleeing River Rats. We would then rush in from both sides as the heavy cavalry swept over the River Rats.

The Lava Breathers' totem was a dragon the River Rats recognized. I heard them screaming, "Gronckle! Gronckle!"

That, ironically, seemed to give the raiding River Rats even more courage, and these men suddenly showed a truly brave side of themselves, launching at the Heavy Cavalry, screaming in red rage. I heard cries of something like "BLOTH HALE LEG Hayth-nar and VALL-HALL-UH!"

It was as though they knew they outnumbered us, but yet we were the ones winning. So far they had survived their raiding missions by attacking those communities and monasteries who could not fight back. But now, faced with a stronger enemy, something in them made them commit one last act of courage.

They ran at the oncoming Lava Breather unit, and they went under the charge of the heavy cavalry as though they were hay under a scythe, rolling under hooves and lances and sword thrusts.

All of us inwardly winced, I think. We Sarmatians strive for the glorious battle, the honorable fight against a brave enemy equally matched. This was not glorious at all- this was slaughter, pure and simple.

A soprano shriek floated over the battle. I saw the dark stallion who had lost his rider to Skuda's lasso now had another rider, a leather-clad, dark-haired River Rat who had lost his helmet. He had dumped a bundled human figure across the withers of the stallion in front of him, and he was riding like mad for the tree cover at the top of the hill.

He was escaping with the hostage! I transmitted this to Gatalas and felt him stiffen in the saddle.

"Bastard! He's going to do a last ditch effort. Try maybe to harry the village- get them to give him gold for not killing a prisoner from their people. Lovely. His comrades all die in battle, but he takes all the gold and heads back to the Northlands the rich hero 'cuz he threatened to kill a helpless Slavic girl!"

_::I assume we stop him?::_

_::Go for it, Horse butt::_

_::With pleasure, doostam!::_

I still had a lot of power and energy coiled up in me, and I exploded into a race gallop, charging up the hill. Gatalas leaned low over me, helping me to power up the slope All our racing games came into play, and I thrilled in the chase.

_::Just pretend that horny stallion is a Lightning Breather, Horsebutt. C'mon! You can do it!::_

Behind us we heard some Sandspitter Firemakers call out warnings, "Don't break formation, Gatalas! You heard the boss! You're breaking the command!"

_::What are you doing?:: I_ heard, both from Skuda's agile gelding and the roan mare in heat :: _Rasparagnus told us to stay together! Stay with us! Remember your orders and honor!:_

I snorted and decided to listen to my Rider's instincts, instead.

So, I shot up the hill like a bolt of Sandspitter-colored lightning, my muscles singing out in pleasure at the thrill of speed. My kind has evolved to run fast over rough and, often steep, steppe slopes. I was light built, carrying a light built Rider. Yes, folks, I may be built like I have the skeleton of a fish or a chicken or, perish the thought, a shish-kabob skewer, but this li'l ole backcountry nag can run with the best of 'em!

Look out, Vikings!

All our Lightning Breather racing games paid off, as we pursued a heavier Viking on a heavier horse who was carrying two riders and a mysterious saddle sack.

Soon we were running neck and neck with the stallion as we were about to reach the covert of trees. Gatalas' right leg squeezed my side, and I leaned toward the stallion, waiting for that moment when all four of the horse's hooves left the ground.

Then I slammed into him, using his weight against him to make him stumble to the side, falling against the pull of gravity. He lost his balance, hairy hooves crossing, and tumbled onto his side.

Viking and hostage went tumbling, and the stallion went rolling. I smoothly leapt over the groaning stallion, landing by the blanketed hostage, twisting my head so my Rider could see where the hapless girl lay.

The stunned River Rat was now starting to roll onto his side from the fall.

:_:Now or never, Gatalas! Move it! You're a tall guy, so stretch those arms!::_

_::I aim to please, mare!:: _Gatalas swept down and caught the girl up, and I leaned the opposite way, giving some extra pull so my Rider could sweep the girl up and onto the front of my saddle. She was stunned by the fall and just lay, cradled, in my Rider's arms.

My hawk-faced, tough looking rider, crooned to the stunned girl, soothing her. Even if she could not understand Sarmatian, she must have sensed his kindness, for she relaxed in his arms, cradling against him and accepting him as a protector.

I nickered, picking up on the joy and kindness my Rider felt to be helping protect this child who had been savaged by Vikings.

He relied on his legs, now, sending me messages, moving me away from the fallen stallion and Viking.

The stallion now rolled onto its feet, shaking itself mightily, angry thoughts cutting into my mind.

_::Me really mad. Me scared but mad. Me want kill. No, me not that desperate. Actually, me want food. No, me want mare in heat! You, in front of me, you useless mare! You no in heat. Me want mare in heat!::_

I snapped my teeth at the stallion, and I trotted away from him. And then something unexpected happened.

The burlap sack on the cantle of the saddle suddenly ripped, and something shot upwards into the air in a cloud of dust and mud flecks.

The Viking yelled in rage, and the stallion, overcome by horror, shrieked incomprehensible thoughts and bolted away, heading back to the river and the dubious safety of the hidden water wagon.

I skidded to a halt, my Rider balancing himself and his semi conscious passenger, cradling the girl with as much tenderness as he could.

We looked up to see a tiny dragon, coated in thick tendrils of mud, trying to fly upwards from the burlap sack. There was little way for me to see its shape and color, but I could see every ounce of its bravery as it squeaked and tried to fly higher on mud-weighted wings.

Its tiny, childhood bravery.

My Turkmene heart dropped deep as I realized this was a dragon kitten, probably torn from its nest way too young. Obviously, the Vikings did not only take human children as slaves.

They took dragon children, too.

I could not help it, I mentally called _::NOOOO! Fly, little one! Fly! Oh, gods, protect the child! Don't give in, kitten! Fly! Fly! Fly! Let my heart be your wings!::_

Gatalas' breath caught in his threat, "Oh, Marha! No! No! No! How could they! They hurt Firemaker children! They steal baby dragons! Is there any end to Viking raider's cruelty?"

As if hearing our whispered prayers, the muddy dragon kitten plunged its pathetic butterfly- thin wings down harder, mewling in fear and- in pain. It was too young to be facing such a challenge of flying so hard and so fast, and it hurt the little one.

As if Marha or the Sky Lady heard our prayers, a breeze flowed in, drifting the milkweed puff of a dragon kitten higher, catching a breeze, sending it away from us. It plunged its fragile wings, screaming in pain with the effort, but the wind sent it far from us, far from Viking warriors.

It may not have much of a chance, but at least it had a better one than it did imprisoned in that sack.

I remembered a blessing Toothless had mentioned to me, and I breathed it in my thoughts , _::Fair winds and fly well, little one. I wish I could share your journey!::_

The girl in Gatalas' arms stirred, and Gatalas helped her to gently sit upright on me, and he cradled his arms around her, securing her.

She was shaking from the shock and leaned back into him, sighing at his warmth and his kind voice. I know she could not understand him, but she understood his intent, and she realized she could trust him.

Gatalas nudged me, asking me to head back to the others, and I did so, picking my way gently on the path to avoid jostling the frightened girl. I could not see her well, since she was directly behind me, but I could smell her fear and the bruises and other horrible things that the Vikings had done to her. Gatalas' kind touch with fingers that can sense better than eyes can see, was already soothing her.

He crooned to her and whispered to her, gentle, family thoughts.

She lay against him for a while and then I felt her turn, felt her pull his face toward her to see him.

Then I heard her scream in terror. Her body thudded as it fell next to mine as she leapt out of the saddle. I stepped back in surprise to see her running away from us, shrieking in terror, sobs cutting off her shrieks.

_::Hrani's milk!:: _I swore, _::What happened! More gratitude problems?::_

"No," Gatalas said, softly and sadly, "I think she happened to look up into my eyes. And she was scared by what she saw."

_::Wha?::_ I snorted, sadly,_ ::Your eyes are your eyes, Firemaker and bond Brother. They are you. But they are not all of you.::_

"Well, yeh, Horsebutt. You're quite the lady, my friend. You know how my eyes look and you accept it- you're good stuff, friend. But a lot of Firemakers see my eyes and don't know what to expect. It scares a lot of people, makes 'em awkward. When you can see, how do you know what to say to the blind guy? You want to be nice, but how do you know what to say?"

He sighed sadly, "Also, don't forget, that poor girl's been through a bad experience. Gods know what: beatings, starvation, possible rape. She's pulled to the end of her rope as it is. Looking into my creepy eyes probably put her over the edge. I can't blame her, _doostam_. I must look like a silver eyed - or even eyeless- demon to her."

I pawed the ground,_ ::Never!::_

He pat my neck, "My loyal friend. I'm lucky I have you there to see me as I really am. Not everyone out there can."

We heard the riders of our unit now closing in beside us as we moved towards the carnage of the battlefield.

The girl had found shelter with Skuda and now was riding behind the Sarmatian woman, her arms locked around the small Dragon warrior's waist. It made sense to me. She needed a woman's arms and words right now. But Skuda shot a glance at my Rider and I, and it was full of sorrow.

She understood that the girl's unintentional reaction had hurt Gatalas' feelings, but my Rider was a Sarmatian warrior. He would not let his feelings get in his way- or in the way of troubling the girl. Still, Skuda and her bay gelding are made of good stuff. They wanted to help the poor girl, but they also wanted to show Gatalas and me that they were our friends. But, they knew Gatalas would say there were more important things to worry about.

Indeed, there were many more important things to worry about. Such as the sight of Rasparagnus now approaching on his Sandspitter-armored mare. She had arched her neck in regret, snorting softly in disappointment.

Gatalas quietly saluted his superior officer and the man nodded.

"I greet you, Gatalas of the Iazyges. We are victorious this evening, and the Sandspitters acted with honor." Rasparagnus now pointed at Gatalas, "Except for one.

"Gatalas, I regret I must place you under troop arrest because you disobeyed orders."

I felt Gatalas start to slump in my saddle, but then he stood up straight again.

Both he and I shared the same thought at the same time :_:There's no such thing as gratitude.::_

If you don't expect it, you aren't disappointed. So, I guess, we weren't disappointed.

* * *

**Some terms**

Dānu apara= Dnieper River in Russia/the Ukraine. This actually was the original name of the river, and it comes from the Sarmatian words for "The River on the Far Side." Viking raiders traveled this river doing both trading and raiding through Eastern Europe

azatani- Sarmatian word for troops

Dragon- A Satmatian dragon is 500 men and usually divided into squadrons of about 30 men under captains

cuirass- a leather breast plate

chamfron- armor to protect a horse's head. The Sarmatians used leather. Their model seemed to be the one copied by European knights, who designed metal chamfrons for their battle horses

Marha- Sarmatian god of fire


	3. Let There be Life

**Chapter 3 Let There Be Life**

"Man is not a rational animal, he is a rationalizing animal" - _R. A. Heinlein, Assignment in Eternity_

**Disclaimer: "**Disclaimer" is Séanadh in Gaelic. I don't know how to say "Gronkles and most other dragons mentioned in this chapter don't belong to me" in Irish.

* * *

"It's been a rough day. Hit me with the tough stuff."

"Are you sure you can take it?" the villager knew some quite good Sarmatian, but with a thick accent, " It's got quite a kick to it."

Gatalas snorted and held up a wooden vessel, "I'll survive. I need a good kick, anyway. Bring it on."

The villager sighed, dipped into the barrel with a ladle and dished the strong smelling liquid into my Rider's bowl.

"Well, you must know your own limit- sour cream with that?".

"Of course."

A dollop of sour cream was tossed into the bowl ,and immediately it turned pink. My friend smelled the aroma from the bowl.

"Just the way I like it. Skuda, I wish you much health!" Gatalas said, and raised his wooden drinking bowl

"_Berma'id_," Skuda replied the traditional way, raising hers. They clicked the bowls briefly.

Then they both drank and sighed in pleasure as an earthy aroma of distilled liquids wafted around all of us.

"The hall cook makes the best beet root soup ever," Gatalas said, sighing in pleasure, "This is splendid."

"Mmhmf," Skuda's mouth was too full of root vegetables and broth, vinegar and sour cream to make sense, but her intentions were good.

I flared my nostrils and snorted quietly. Borscht- or beet root soup- has to be one of the greatest tragedies invented by Firemakers. The basic concept is brilliant- everything a horse would love. Let's see: beets, carrots, fennel, cabbage, dill, water, maybe a turnip or two. It's pure ambrosia! Then they have to go and destroy a masterpiece by throwing in onions, beef broth, perhaps a sausage or two and that vile fermented apple or grape juice they call vinegar. Then they completely throw it to the wolves and toss in fermented cream and mix it into a horrible pink color.

Firemakers.

Well, at least the bread made up for it. Every mare has her price, and mine is bread. So, Gatalas had made sure to filch a whole bunch of the dark bread for me from the table where the simple, but hearty, evening meal had been laid out for us. (Borscht, fresh baked bread, sausage with pickled cabbage and fresh apples)

Tired, but grateful, villagers made sure we were fed when we rode wearily back from the battle, bringing the few Viking prisoners that had surrendered. We do not normally take prisoners, but these people would not tolerate us killing the Vikings. Many of them had connections that they could be used as hostages to negotiate captured Slavs' freedom or pay back these villagers for the wealth they had lost through prior raids.

Most of the River Rats had died in the battle, fighting bravely at the end. It had not been glorious war, but we had stopped the villagers from being invaded by these River Rats. I know if we did not intervene those Vikings would have been now walking back to their floating wagons, prodding and whipping a very long line of newly minted slaves.

No matter how glum we were that this battle had been not as honorable as we wanted, we knew we had saved our allies.

So the feast of thanks awaited us. It was not a feast of jubilation but one of appreciation, and that mattered a lot to us.

The spread laid out for us made everything worthwhile and helped restore our spirits- along with the grateful thanks of the villagers. They know that, for Sarmatians, fresh fruits and vegetables are a treat, so they always made sure to feed us well after any of our battles, including lots of fresh produce of the season, both for human and horse. There was also fresh bread, another treat for us.

Both solid and liquid forms of bread.

First the solid bread.

Gatalas casually had dumped a helmet full of the lovely, sour tasting dark bread of this region onto my hay ration. If I were a dragon I would have purred as I munched that wonderful, yeasty, dark bread, my eyes closed in deepest contentment.

"Look sharp." Skuda warned. She clapped her helmet back on and leapt to her feet. She held her spear and shield in a vigilant position. Gatalas remained sitting cross-legged and lowered his head submissively and placed his shackled hands on his knees, showing all he was being held under arrest.

The Sarmatians who walked past us, bearing bowls of soup and bread, took a glance and Skuda and nodded approval of her vigilance over her prisoner.

When they left, she sat back down by Gatalas and picked up her soup bowl, "Those handcuffs really look like they are hurting you," she said, casually.

"Your knot work is as excellent as ever, ma'am," Gatalas said, lifting his wrists to show how Skuda had tied his hands so they looked tight, but it was all a big fat illusion of knots and bad promises, "And I appreciate your due diligence in volunteering to guard the hostile terrorist who went AWOL."

_::Don't forget we're also Traitors to the Lightning People:: _I reminded him, crunching on a heel of pumpernickel bread, _::We just continue to impress people wherever we go.::_

"Pleasure's all mine, Mosquito Shadow," Skuda joked, using a childhood nickname she often teased Gatalas with. Like most of his family line, he had been very small and skinny until he hit late adolescence- just as I had been. Then, after we bonded, both of us hit our growth spurts and grew like weeds until we were taller than average for our species.

There was silence, then, just we horses munching the heavenly filched bread and watching our Riders sitting in front of us- childhood old friends who now fought together as Dragon warriors.

"What are they going to do to you, Gatalas?" Skuda asked finally, pulling a hand at the end of her pony tail, "It's rather awkward for Rasparagnus, I think. No one has ever disobeyed his orders before, so what kind of punishment is there? And the whole concept of prison is for these Settled Folk- no such thing exists in our caravans. Turning you loose to fend for yourself is moot since you kind of do that anyway as a Steppe Guide."

Gatalas snorted almost as well as I could, and I caught laughter in his breath as he did, "I should pull a whopper like this story some West African merchants I guided last month told . Something about how a clever hare is captured by some carnivorous enemies. He cries and begs them not to torment him by throwing him in a thorn patch, so of course they do so. Imagine their surprise when he runs away, slipping through the thorns, unharmed, calling out to them 'Guess what? I was born and bred in the thorn patch! See you later!""

"What? Tell them you hate being left alone on the steppe and let them abandon you? I think Raspy's ridden around the encampment a few times to know a trick like that. He'd dump you into the Red Death Timeline just to show you up."

We all fell silent at that. The thought that anyone would even think of doing that to a Sarmatian was horror. It would be an abuse of the priests' abilities to manipulate the gates.

"No one's tried that," Gatalas said, finally, "Opening a gate to chuck a criminal into the Red Death world could be disaster. They might get rid of annoying li'l ole me, but what if it resulted in leaving an even more attractive tear in the fabric for more monsters to come into our world." He shifted and turned back to watch me and smiled sadly, "I can think of a far better punishment."

I felt a chill wrap around my heart and, next to me, the bay gelding let out a warning whuffle, an indication he did not like where this conversation was going.

_That makes two of us, pretty boy._

"Oh, no. Don't say that, Gatalas! They wouldn't," Skuda shook her head so hard her dark golden pony tail whipped, "Never! Just never! The council doesn't create a bond. How can they take it away?"

The firelight picked out a golden glow to the silvery scars around Gatalas' blank eyes, "Easy. Just make sure I am left somewhere on the steppes in this Timeline and good ole Horsebutt is conveniently relocated back to our original Timeline. You have to admit it, there'd be no better way to make sure I never caused any problem again…"

The unsaid words hung over all of us, … _then to take away not only my Bond-Partner but my guiding eyes. To make me blind. Again._

"Remind me to drag you behind my horse with my lasso if you EVER say that again," Skuda said, her alto voice edged with fear and anger, "If you think it hard enough, maybe someone _will _catch that thought and decide it's a clever way to punish a Rider-_azatani._ Bad thoughts like that can fly into the wrong heads."

"Superstition is in the air," Gatalas sang softly, "You really believe that?"

_:: Just shut up, that's all she's saying::_ I snapped irritably, _::Don't borrow trouble before its time. Anyway, I'll fight like the Devilsteed himself if they try some prank like that.::_

Gatalas sighed, _::Sorry, Horsebutt. I'm kind of puzzled about the whole thing myself. It brings out the weird side of me::_

_::You mean weird-er side,::_ I snickered, and ducked as Gatalas tossed a piece of bread at me to bounce off my nose.

I just nosed the bread and ate it, never one to let a good projectile go to waste.

One thing did stick in my thoughts, though. Gatalas had just shared with all of us his deepest fear. And it was a real doozy, too.

Okay, can someone PLEASE change the subject?

Skuda to the rescue! She leaned closer to him, "Whatever happens, I will share that most of us Sand Spitters were mightily impressed with what you did. You gave that poor girl a chance at life again."

"Wouldn't you have done it, too?" Gatalas asked Skuda, trying to meet her gaze and failing, as usual. It always made me sad he could never quite meet someone eye to eye. But his _azatani_ knew how to read his other facial features to know he was genuine.

Skuda stared back and then looked away, "Good question. I'd like to think I would, but in all honesty, I am not sure, Gatalas. At our initiation ceremony, we all swore on fire to honor our captain's and our Scepter Holder's orders as sacred. Breaking them is breaking honor. And, as nomads, honor is often the only possession many of us truly own."

Gatalas tossed his head emphatically, accidentally causing of his helmet-loosened forelock hair to fall in his eyes, "But what's the boundary, Skuda? Following orders is honorable, but if following them means someone who needs help is abandoned, then is that really honorable?"

Skuda hissed quietly through her teeth, weighing it out. Truly it is a question for us Sarmatians. We value honor and devotion to our leaders. Just as they have an obligation to care for us and our families. Our Scepter Holder is not just our Commander- he is, truly, our Prince, and he holds a responsibility to give us and our families access to join the caravan and adds to our flocks of sheep and goats and cattle. He provisions, cares and protects all of us in the Dragon in return for our loyalty in battle. The same rule applies to our squadron commander, who is not only a commander but a nobleman in his own right. The oaths we swear to both are sacred.

By breaking his vow to his squadron leader and, by association, to Banadaspos, Gatalas had showed he could not be trusted and that his vows meant nothing.

Finally Skuda chose the woman's way of answering: Thou shalt change the subject.

She reached over and pulled Gatalas' hair out of his eyes, "That really must bother you. I know it would drive me crazy."

He shrugged, "I never even notice when it happens for obvious reasons."

"Still looks painful. Anyway, I think you are the only one of us who had the wits to balance out what is more honorable and take the risk on it. " She smiled sadly, "I know you have your reasons for it- it's hard to see a person being treated as a hostage or a slave. It's hard for us, for any of us who remember the Thundering Victory Battle. But you actually do something about it."

Gatalas gave her one of his rare, illuminating smiles.

_::Four candlemarks past noon::_ I sent to him.

He thanked me and oriented in his mind. Then he reached his roped hands formed into fists to gently punch his childhood friend's shoulder, "Thanks, Skuda."

Well, that was the intent, anyway. Of course he missed and aimed slightly lower, almost hitting another, more awkward, part of the lady warrior. She laughed and caught his wrists in a hand grip, giving them a friendly handshake.

I silently was grateful Skuda had the class not to embarrass my Rider for his mistake.

"No problem, bucko. So, we've broken rye bread together. But where's the liquid bread?"

Her gestures brought over the person handling the all important beer barrel, and soon there were bowls of good autumn beer for us- four bowls. The villager had lifted his eyebrows, but he accepted Skuda's cock and bull story that Sarmatian horses get their speed from the hops in beer.

"Drink up, all of you," Skuda said merrily, placing a bowl by her merry bay gelding. His nicker was a glad song

:_:I NEVER thought you would remember!:: _he thought-sent, _::And it's the Harvest Festival Beer batch. Hooray!::_

Gatalas slid a bowl to me, and I started drinking as well, letting my ears flop back and forth in pleasure as I gulped. These villagers could brew a wicked beer- and that's a compliment!

Someone started singing a Sarmatian round -song near the food tables, and others joined in, dividing themselves automatically into groups to make a round.

_Ho, young rider, apple-cheeked one._

_Whither riding?_

_On your steed so black and prancing._

_Whither riding?_

_What matters where I ride?_

_All the steppe lands are my pride!_

_Duschamoya, duschamoya._

_What matters where I roam?_

_For the steppe lands are my home?_

_Dushamoya, dushamoya- Hoy!_

The Nowheresville residents knew this song as well, but it was a version in their language, so they joined in and there was soon a cycle of rounds that spun like a wagon wheel, even though it was in two languages. It was quite lovely, and people were caught up in the bittersweet tune. The melody started sounded very much like the trotting of a horse and rider, moving across the steppes, guiding the path for a dragon.

I thought of a black and prancing steed and wondered, once again, if Toothless and his own rider were all right.

* * *

Cloudy sky, breakfast smoke fires. Horses, snorting and excited, pawing and eager to be moving again, free from this trapped place of wheel less wagons.

Units moving together, getting ready to strike out for home, but yet it would not be home.

Banadaspos and his squadron leaders had talked after the dinner and come up with a decision. The dragon attacks were getting more and more frequent, and it was time to start being proactive instead of reactive.

They were going to swing north and west of the village and move in the direction of the attacking dragons, mapping out a projected course based on patterns from valuable data.

Data that had been provided by a certain Lightning Breather with a funny Firemaker name. The very data that Gatalas and I had sneaked to our priests.

Hawks had been sent to alert the other members of the Dragon to send out their units and unite with our units northwest of here, facing toward the pine hills. Then they would all move on, hunting and seeking the source of the attacks.

Of course, a force of azatani would be left to guard the caravans- we Sarmatians are bizarre, but we are not crazy.

Breakfasted, provisioned and fit after a good night's sleep, the Dragon looked brilliant and beautiful. All of them.

Except for the blond man sitting cross-legged at the feet of his unsaddled, funny pale- colored horse.

Even though we had provided the data, Gatalas and I were to stay out of this mission. Banadaspos had been merciful to us, in the end, balancing out that my Rider had broken the rules to save a life. True, he had endangered his colleagues, but he had done a good thing to for the village. The girl was one of theirs, and she had been fostered to a village further up the river. She was now reunited with her family who was nursing her back to health and sanity.

Instead, Gatalas was told to ride back to our caravan , escorting two spare horses back with us. We would help with the home guard and messenger duties and wait for further orders on future placement.

Rasparagnus did not want us in the Sandspitters ,and so we were discharged.

Banadaspos had told Gatalas this in his noble way as my Rider ate breakfast, a steaming bowl of bread and hot milk, trying to balance it well in spite or his bound wrists.

"I have great respect for you, Gatalas, son of Gatretes. I also have respect for Rasparagnus. He comes to us with a lot of experience and respect from his native Roxalani Tribe, and he has been a great asset to us."

Banadaspos had clapped a hand to the sitting Gatalas' shoulder, "I'll work on him, you'll see. Hopefully, he'll come around. But, until then, it's best I ask you to stay out of the Sandspitters."

A knife flashed and the Scepter Holder deftly reached down to slice the ropes loose from Gatalas' wrists. Gatalas just flicked his wrists and the ropes slid off, as they had been intended to.

Banadaspos chuckled, "I see Skuda was up to her usual magical knots. It says more honor to you, friend, that you did not just run away."

"No disrespect, lord, but do you take me for a River Rat?" Gatalas said, softly.

"Not at all," Banadaspos helped the younger Firemaker to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder again, "Safe journey, friend."

Gatalas had bowed and sighed in soft relief. He really had been scared of being sundered from me, I realized.

Now Banadaspos paced in front of the assembled dragon, both he and Farna wearing their colorful riding clothes, armor packed away on one of the Scepter Holder's pack horses (our officers use ordinary horses for this). Without her armor, Farna was very distinctive. Her pale hide and blue eyes made her look like a ghost horse, an illusion made even stranger by the fact she had no mane whatsoever. (There are quite a few of my Turkmene people who have no manes).

Rasparagnus and the other two leaders came up by him and they turned to face the troops. Their horses gleamed with proud glow of the Turkmene breed: white, sorrel, black and palomino.

I heard someone start chanting behind us and turned to see a Slavic Firemaker with a long beard and dressed in black robes. He raised a hand in what could either be a blessing or a ward of evil.

Neither Gatalas nor I could understand him, but something about his voice disturbed us.

The man continued chanting as the Dragon troop moved off, the boy with the Sarmatae Draco banner leading the way. Wind sang in the Draco's mouth, making it roar joyfully.

Gatalas placed a hand on my neck so he could borrow my eyes as we watched our brothers and sisters move off. I could feel his hand clench a bit in regret. Like me, he wanted to be there, sharing the adventure.

It had taken so long to work our way into being a part of the Dragon. In one quick judgment, Rasparagnus had undone all our hard work. Worst was the feeling we could not serve with those we loved.

We saw a gleam of fire-colored horse hide and Skuda and her horse trotted past us with the Sandspitters. I noticed that she, and several of Sandspitters were holding one hand to their chest with their fingers curled in the symbol for support.

::_Farewell, sister_:: the bay thought to me.

Other Turkmenes sent me their wishes, too.

::_Take care, Eyes for Gatalas. You ride with us in spirit_::

_::We will miss you.::_

_::Sky Lady watch you.::_

As they passed by, a hawk flew over head, soaring towards the caravan on the steppes.

Skuda had let her hawk go, knowing that the bird would fly to her wagon perch and kin would care for the bird while her mistress was on the mission.

The bird called to us, tipped her wings, and flew onwards.

As they all disappeared towards the forest and away from the steppes, the man in black raised his hand and made a gesture of respect. Then he walked toward the octagonal meeting house.

"Our priest finds this interesting," a voice said, and Gatalas and I noticed the stout woman who had served my Rider and Skuda the beet soup, "The colors of the horses intrigued him."

Gatalas scratched me along the shoulder, as if trying to distract himself from a nagging though, "What was so interesting about that?"

"The Four Horsemen of the Revelations. The white Boneknapper horse- the rider be the agitator. The heavy red sorrel of the Gronckle riders- the rider be war. The black thin horse of the Stranglers- the rider be hunger. And the pale yellow horse of the Sandspitter rider."

The woman nodded, "The rider be death."

* * *

"I really am disappointed by that, actually," Gatalas told me several hours later as we trotted our way back through the border poles and onto our beloved Steppes of Insanity, "I always thought you would make a better Death horse than Rasparagnus' pretty palomino. She just looks too dainty and sweet for the role."

::_Heh. Thanks for the insinuation that I am ugly. At least I don't look like a naked albino monkey::_

"Jealous, I think you are." Gatalas grinned as pat me affectionately, "But you are the red color of death. Your coat is light orange-yellow, like a fading bruise in battle, and your red-brown mane and tail and legs are the exact, lovely shade of old, dried blood. And sometimes your hazel eyes glow green like botulism on a corpse, a truly death like steed all around, my lady."

Admiration was in his voice as he praised my equine beauty in the Sarmatian way. I sighed in delight and gratitude for my rider's kindness. Yes, I am a Sarmatian lady, and we are suckers for such poetic flattery.

I know we were being sent back in some kind of detention from our battle hijinx, but I was feeling pretty good. My Rider was with me, he was waxing poetic in our people's way, and we back on our beloved, chaotic Steppes!

My Rider gave a sharp whistle and the two horses we were escorting back to our encampment picked up the pace, jogging at a trot beside us. They were two shaggy, black brutes of stallions with a certain Viking air about them.

But now they were happy Viking stallions. They were dumb as ticks and boring to boot, but they lapped up the Sarmatian way of handling horses as if they had been in a desert and now stood in a rainstorm.

They no longer wore the Viking saddles or the heavy bitted bridles. Instead they had thick halters and just wore some light packs with supplies for the encampment. Some of the _azatani _had rigged up the stallions so they could be led by Gatalas as he rode me. He held a lead rope in each hand as well as gripping the handle bar of my neck harness.

The stallions were acting remarkably well, but that is no surprise. The Sarmatian way of handling horses is based on gentleness, positive reinforcement and establishing firmly that our Firemakers are the boss over these mindless twits of horses.. While my Firemaker-people prefer mares or geldings, we do have stallions for guarding our herds and some work around the emcampmemt. We expect them to have good manners. Most of them actually do, when they learn they cannot get away with threatening Firemakers, mares or geldings.

Once these two dimwits from the Norselands realized they no longer had a heavy bit in their mouth and a River Rat Firemaker who did not slam them on the heads, it did wonders for their attitude.

(It also helped that they both got several kicks in the face from me when they tried to ply their studly charms. I made it clear them that in our little herd of three, I was the lead mare.)

Gatalas, as well, did not let them pull their attitude on him. He did not hit them, but he got their respect very fast with sharp words. Eventually the two stallions held a quick discussion and decided Gatalas was the stallion and I was the lead mare, so they let us take over the management of the herd.

Non Turkemene horses are not all that motivated- if there is another "horse" willing to take over leadership, they will happily fall in behind him or her.

It also helps when there is no mare in heat.

Once we entered the wide, grassy plains of the Steppe lands, they decided once and for all they had died and gone to the Great Fields in the Sky.

_::Oh, Fishbone Lead mare, you have take us now to Paradise::_ one of them crooned to me, _::You skinny and butt ugly scarecrow, but you wondrous miracle mare to make us go to Heaven.::_

We stopped by a river at midday, where we let the stallions drink deeply and roll to their hearts' content in the russet grass, shaking themselves and calling out friendly insults to each other. I won't print them here- they make me turn an even redder shade than I am.

Gatalas took off my harness and let me roll, too. Then he flopped on his back, a blade of yellowed grass in his mouth, and enjoyed the peaceful moment.

I cropped grass, seeking the last of green good stuff still clinging to the memories of summer. It hides beneath the dry bunchgrass, but it's there for the horse who takes the time to seek it.

"The stallions seem happy," Gatalas said to me, "They have some potential, I think. We'll see if someone can work with them. They look like good pulling horses for carts. I don't think they were cut out to be war horses, myself. "

_::Agreed.::_ I did wince when I saw the horses without their saddles. Their coats were ribby and harsh with plenty of white hairs from saddle sores, and edges of their mouths were scarred as well. One of the stallions even looked as if his tongue had been severely sliced, almost in two, by a sharp bit.

"Vikings." Gatalas snorted, picking up that image from me, "Pain and force might work on their own people, but there are easier and better ways." He yawned, "Well, we at least saved three hostages of theirs: the girl and these two stallions"

I came closer to the water and took a drink, enjoying the lovely clear steppe water.

It was then I heard the squeaking sobs, right near the river bank. I pulled my head up, water dripping from my muzzle. It sounded all to familiar.

I looked down where the river water lapped against the muddy clay. A little lump lay buried in the clay, shaking and squeaking, eyes tightly shut.

Oh dear.

It was the little dragon who had flown from the bag, the little milkweed puff screaming in pain as the wind pulled its baby wings too hard.

_::Gatalas::_ I mind sent, _::Actually, we may have saved four hostages. Come here. Slowly. Gently.::_

I lowered my muzzle and scented, smelling fever and old wounds and, lurking at the corners, fading life sparks. The little dragon kitten had probably collapsed here, unable to fly any more on its damaged wings. Fevered, it had burrowed into the clay and just lay still, so weak it did not care what happened to it.

Gatalas followed my voice, stumbling over clumsily. He fell against my shoulder and touched my neck to gain my eyes.

The child-dragon cracked open eyes so filled with runny discharge it was hard to tell what color they were. They met mine, but showed no recognition and no caring. With a sigh, the kitten closed the eyes again and just lay on its side apathetically,

"Merciful Marha. The poor kitten. It's done for. It's come here to die, Horsebutt. Leave it in peace. I think it knows it's time has come. I recognize that look Come on, let's go get the others and move on. Just say a prayer for the little soul and move on with our lives."

I snorted and made my hazel eyes meet my Riders' blind silver eyes, _::No.::_

Gatalas laid his head against my neck and his voice was full of sadness, "It's the right thing to do. You have too kind of a heart, Bond-sister. But I think it's too late to save it. I know it's hard, but sometimes a creature is so beyond care it cannot be helped."

I folded my knees and lay down next to the injured dragon. _::Then I guess you ride on without me, Gatalas. I'm staying here until you pick up that poor kitten for me. I sorely lack opposable thumbs.::_

"I'm serious. The kindest thing to do is to leave it here."

I stared over the edge of the river and on to the far away plains in the distance. I remembered a canyon in a place not far from here but a Time very from here.

_::It's a good thing, then, I did not feel that way about a starving, injured, sick youngling I found in a canyon.::_

I heard my Rider take a sigh and his breath catch in his throat.

"Damn you, you stubborn mule." He said, and he dropped to his knees in the river clay next to me. Gently he scraped the dull clay from the little dragon kitten's hide and lifted it up.

The dragon kitten opened the eyes again and looked at my Rider blindly, uncaring. Then its eyes closed and it passed out.

The kitten lay limply, just fitting perfectly into my Rider's cupped hands with their long, fine archer's fingers. The wings spilled over each hand like crumpled fall leaves, once brilliant but now soggy and grayed by winter rains

"He's so small," my Rider said in a voice suddenly sounding smaller and tighter.

Gently, Gatalas washed the mud from the kitten, who just let him. The coat that emerged was dull, again no sign of what color the dragon's coat really was. Sickness and bad treatment had tarnished it to this muddy, apathetic brown-green

* * *

We stayed there for the rest of the night, letting the stallions graze. Gatalas was at a loss, but we knew we had to cool the little creature down.

Part of our guide equipment includes medicines and bandages for my Rider and me in case of injury, but also a small bag of medicines for dragons. The priests had taught all the guide Riders about basic cures, though they had warned us most dragons would not get that close to use to let us help them.

Gatalas wound up boiling some willow bark tea from the stash of medicinal. After it cooled, he dipped a spare cloth into it and dripped water droplets into the dragon's mount. Eventually, the little creature started sucking it on its (his?) own and soon it was slurping down the tea desperately.

Later, Gatalas tried a broth made from soaked and cooked beef jerky, and the little dragon sucked some of that- not much, but it was a start. I kept watch, my rider leaning against my legs to gain my eyes, the dragon huddled in his lap bundled in a thick blanket.

The stallions wandered over to watch and I gave them a rattling snort and snapped my teeth at them. Nothing personal, but since they had belonged to the Vikings, and the dragon had been tied to one of them, it would not be a good influence.

_::Okay. You be snot, Fishbone Lead Mare all you want. Just keep us in heaven each day. We no complain about your ugliness and meanness. Deal?::_

As the sun came up and migrating birds began calling across the plains, I grazed near the campfire. My Rider had fallen asleep on his side, his bed roll around his shoulders, the tiny dragon cuddled up in its blanket near his side.

I reached over and pulled the bed roll over my rider fully so he could sleep and he and the baby dragon could keep each other warm.

As I did so, I heard the breathing of the little kitten was rattling much less, and it was starting to sleep more easily. So, there was hope after all.

In more ways than one.

* * *

**Some Terms**

_Berfama'id - _Enjoy! Bon appetit!

_Bale- _Yes


	4. It's Somewhat Great to be Back!

**Chapter 4**

**"It's Somewhat Great to be Back!"**

"Mighty little force is needed to control a man whose mind has been hoodwinked; contrariwise, no amount of force can control ... a man whose mind is free. No, not the rack, not fission bombs, not anything — you can't conquer a free man; the most you can do is kill him."- R.A. Heinlein, _If This Goes on..._

The concept of dragons and Toothless sure does not belong to me.

_

* * *

_

_Once again, I descend into Heinlein madness in this chapter. If you read my other story, you'll know about the Dream Paths and the Healing Waters. I tried to explain them here without repeating myself, but it can be confusing if you have not read my other story. Basically, dreams can be a powerful way for beings to communicate (a la Heinlein), and a big step to healing the body lies in healing the mind and giving someone the will to live, to help the body heal._

There's also an important HTTYD character who shows up here, and a foresight that the dragons and humans in this story will have a different type of bond from the one Hiccup and Toothless have- but I dearly hope I write it so you see that it is just as close and loving, in its own different, crazy way.

Also, fair warning: this chapter describes some graphic details about cruelty to innocent creatures. I tried to tone it down, but there might be some things that come up that are hard to read. I wanted to show that the Vikings our protagonists fought were very cruel to their victims, most of whom were weaker than the Vikings.

Just remember, these are not the Berk Vikings, and there were also Vikings like Hiccup, who were very kind and creative and compassionate while still being brave and protective. That's why he's a big hero in my book.

This chapter is also written from two points of views, and you may see this in other chapters, too. I hope you like it, but let me know what you think.

You'll also see Sarmatian culture in all its glory. My intent was to spoof the over-the-top morbid artwork and "glorified violence as a way of life" writing style you can see in barbarian sword and loincloth comics/ Hyborian age novels like "Conan the Barbarian," "Red Sonja (She Devil with a Sword)," "Gor," "Kull of Atlantis," and even aspects of TV series like "Hercules" and "Xena: Warrior Princess". If you Google any of these titles, especially the Conan and Red Sonja comic book covers and fantasy art by Frazetta, you'll know what I'm spoofing.

* * *

This is the Great Steppe.

It's vast and offers a charmingly tree-free atmosphere with a high visibility of pretty much nothing. It's so huge it stretches across two continents and has an amazing ability to be located squarely between where you are and where you want to be. This opportunity to enjoy the Steppes, of course, endears my homeland to many Firemakers who are not Sarmatians, and they have praised its many virtues in words that would turn a pirate's ears blue.

But it's my home, and I love it.

Really, it's not the end of the world, but you can see it from here. Another benefit: in the morning, we Sarmatians can look at the horizon and see who will be coming to visit us at the end of the day.

We have hunting and herding and fishing and hawking and a breathtaking view of the sunsets.* (*= sunset viewing void during rainstorms, tornadoes, blizzards or plagues of locusts. Subject to availability.)

So now we were heading over the bluffs and descending to the river valley, approaching our caravan. My home village. In a word: non existent (well, actually that's two words). See, we're nomads. Barbarians. Gentlemen of the Road and Ladies of the Unblazed Trails. We follow the herds and flocks and never let the grass grow too high on our wagon wheels. It's who we are: humans and horses and hounds and hawks.

The only downside to all this is the irony. Other places have something we wish we could have, they have lots of it, and all they want to do is destroy it .

Instead, we get pests like Red Deaths and Slithereens and Too-Many-Teeth and Kobolds and Wolf- Louts and Spitting Strigas and Giant Man eating Cockroaches and lots of other gate crashers that invade our Steppes.

We have... no dragons.

Well, technically, we have one, now: a little dragon kitten curled up and sleeping in an improvised bed/basket tied behind my saddle.

* * *

I did feel a sense of warmth and joy as I began to pick up on the location of our caravan. There always is something wonderful about coming home again. True, home for a Sarmatian tends to change constantly- we're hopping all over the map. However, for us, home is not based on a geographic location. Rather, it lies in the heart of our caravan. Home is made of the love we share with our Firemaker and Turkmene brothers and sisters. It's evident in the scents of the cooking fires, the sweet herbs of the steam baths, the ringing sounds from the blacksmith wagon and the melodies of the songs and musical instruments that always seem to fill the air among our Firemakers, who dearly love an improvised love song about decomposing skulls, fresh blooming roses and new-born cobras.

I could feel Gatalas' joy, as well, as each of my hoof beats took us closer to our people. He was sleepy from nursing a sick dragon kitten. He also was sucking on his left hand where said dragon kitten had attacked him this morning.

When we had stopped to take a water break for us horses, Gatalas had lifted the blanket from the improvised kitten basket so he could medicate our little guy. (Yes, by this time, we had seen the natural dragon plumbing to know our kitten was a male.) The kitten had regained consciousness by now, but he was still sick. Still, he had a sense of preservation about him and was probably terrified he had, again, been taken hostage by what he thought to be Vikings.

So, when he saw Gatalas, he launched out of the basket and laid into my Rider with all the feeble strength he had, snarling and spitting and hissing. Suddenly, Gatalas was wearing a most interesting, hissing, spitting, bracelet. He yelled and spat out some Sarmatian swear words as the kitten sank its teeth into his hand. He instinctively flipped his wrist, hard. When you are an archer, it really is annoying to have your hand bitten off by a dragon you're trying to help.

I can totally understand his motives.

The kitten was thrown from his arm. The little guy tried to fly away, but his wings would not unfurl completely. They dangled like flattened bellows in the blacksmith wagon, so the dragon was instead dumped to the ground. He rolled to his feet, staggering in dizziness. He may have been breathing better, but he was still one very sick little dragon.

He growled in a snarl that was probably cuter than he intended, and he lashed claws at Gatalas, spitting. If he was trying to breathe fire, he was not doing a good job of it- the only thing that came out of his mouth was saliva and bad intentions.

Then he hunkered down, wobbling dizzily, spitting at us for all he was worth.

The annoying River Rat stallions now both were laughing the equine way.

:_:He plenty mean for little punching bag.:: _ one of them suggested.

:_:He squeak better, though, when me kick him against the long boat sides that time Guðbrundr Blackteeth put him on me back to surprise me::_

:_:Me remember! He fly so high, then, when you kick stupid little dragon-toy. You help him much. He no fly, now, unless we "help" him. We have fun. He fly.::_

_::Neeeeighh! Everyone wins::_

Saddled and packed down as I was, I could still move, and soon both stallions were nursing sore muzzles from my roundhouse kick.

_::You boring, ugly mare. You no fun.::_

I realize I come across in these "How to Train Your Dragon" stories as a sweet, gentle mare, but outside of the Sarmatian community and my friendship with dragons, and my friendship with Toothless and Hicuup, most Firemakers and their horses who have met me have quite another opinion.

Basically, I am a nasty, warrior horse who takes no guff from my enemies. I may be an auburn haired, skinny horse, but I am determined, and I show no mercy to my enemies.

I am considered extremely scary looking and very ugly in appearance. I am a warrior and a fighter, and I will fight to the death to protect those I love. And I have wounded many, many Firemakers who tried to attack my Rider. I've broken bones with my kicks and bites, and I've dragged more than a few Firemaker enemies out of their horses' saddles to be brought down by a Sarmatian sword or arrow.

I am still young, but I have many scars and burns, and I wear them all with great pride. Therefore, like most Turkmenes, I am known to Firemakers who are not Sarmatian as being foul tempered, uncontrollable, vicious, high strung, stubborn, difficult, nasty, even a bit of a bitch.

And I consider it the highest of praise.

* * *

Gatalas was able to pinpoint the attacking dragon's location by his noises. My Rider sucked on his now bloody wrist and snorted out an, "O-o-o-o-o-kay. I am so getting tired of this invisible gratitude. I think I'll have a heart attack the day someone we help actually is grateful for it."

_::Awww, Gatalas.:: _I nuzzled my Rider's hair, mussing up his already sleep tangled warrior's braid,_ ::I'm still grateful you saved him. Don't fret it. This is a dragon we're dealing with, remember? They don't seem to be fond of us Firemakers, overall.::_

"_Bale,_" Gatalas muttered in agreement, "And those Lie-Bitten River Rats really hurt the poor little guy. We're only scratching the surface of what they did to him."

I watched the little dragon trying in vain to blast us into the next universe with his squeaks and spits and flashing fangs, and then I looked at my Rider.

Tallish man- a bit on the thin side, but many Sarmartian archers are. He still has the wiry, corded and very tough muscles of an archer. Long, pale blond hair, now hauled back in the tangled warrior's braid Skuda had plaited. Long head with high cheekbones. Battle scars on his face and hands and the part of his arms not covered by his short sleeved kaftan and the long sleeved, woolen shirt worn under it for winter travel. . Dragon tattoos spiraling up his hands and one side of his neck. Loose, woolen riding trousers embroidered with geometric patterns up the sides. Fur lined calf-length, embroidered boots tied to his legs with cross gaiters. A Sandspitter-shaped ear-ring in each ear. Close cropped blond goatee but with stubble sprouting along his square jaws as he let his beard come for the harsh winter period. While unseeing, his eyes still shining a pale silvery gray.

If I were a sick, hungry, terrified dragon, my RIder would look just like a Viking River Rat. It did not matter if his clothes had the designs of the Steppes rather than the North Lands. It did not matter if his narrow, hawklike nose, winged blond eyebrows and almond shaped eyes showed his heritage was Central Asian rather than North European- he still could be taken for a Viking.

Of course, it didn't help that the dragon's eyes were still cloudy with discharge from his sickness.

_::Gatalas, no offense, friend, but the dragon thinks you are a River Rat.:: _ I told him, sadly. Gatalas hates River Rats, and the comparison would hurt.

My Rider graced that thought with some splendidly eloquent Sarmatian curses. He does _so_ adore Vikings!

He hissed through his teeth and felt his way along my harness until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the sheepskin bota from my harness. He had stored the unused jerky broth from his and the dragon's breakfast in it. He located the wooden drinking bowl from my left saddlebag and poured some broth into it, sprinkling some herbs from the medicine bag on his belt pouch into it.

"Then, I guess I can't help him, Horsebutt. It's up to you. I look too much like a River Rat, obviously. And those black stallions look WAY too River Rat like- hells, they probably joined right in with laughing at his misery. You are the only non Viking-looking thingie creature here at the moment. You're going to have to be the one to talk to him."

He held the bowl in his hands for me to grasp in my teeth. I met his blind eyes and felt a renewed sense of admiration for him. He had just been bitten and rejected, but he had taken the Sarmatian way to deal with it and did not sulk on it- rather he wanted to do what he could to help an injured dragon kitten who hated him.

_Oh my Rider. You look so cruel and mean and barbaric and feral. But, underneath that, your heart beats so warm. Why do so many dragons and Firemakers not look beneath your appearance and your blind eyes to see who you really are?_ _Ah, but then I can answer that. Most living creatures seem to like being deceived by appearances. They won't take the time to look beyond them if they don't have to._

I approached the shivering dragon, now collapsed into a puddle, but he still managed to give me one defiant spit along with an unintentionally cute squeak.

_::Strong, but cute. You're going to bowl over the dragonesses someday,::_ I thought-sent unintentionally.

The little dragon looked back at me with a :: _? ? ? ? ?::_

_::Permission to mind-link. Open your mind, if you will::_ I asked him, though I knew the answer, already.

He stared back, now with a _::? ! ! ? ::_

Poor kid. He had been stolen so young he had no idea how to mind-speak. I felt my heart sink a bit lower. How lonely the little scarred dragon must have been. Every day tortured by Vikings for fun. Screaming in pain and wanting to be saved, but unable to able to call for help to be saved.

_::It's food. For you. Eat. Drink. We want you to. We will not hurt you. You are our friend:: _I tried every phrase I could, but the little dragon hunched lower. As he did, I could see the light pick out a whole web of burn scars and puncture wound scars spiraling along his sides and his wings. (I guessed that dragon hide does not develop its fireproof qualities until they get older) .

The left front leg jutted at a horribly awkward angle. It had been broken brutally and allowed to heal improperly. He could not put any weight on it and had to list sadly to the right when he stood. He compensated for it by coiling a very long, beautifully-segmented tail around himself.

Every few segments looked like they had some chunks gouged out of them with River Rat knife or dart blows. Even if his tail would heal so he could balance with it, his tail would always have deep craters and gouges and burn marks for the rest of his life.

Tiny ribs jutted out along his streamlined sides like the staves on a barrel. Obviously, feeding the dragon hostage had not been an important priority- not as important as torturing the dragon hostage.

I decided that, in spite of Toothless' Hiccup, I now officially hated all Vikings/River Rats.

The dragon kitten again spat at Gatalas and I . He turned away from us, hissing.

I set the wooden bowl down, _::It's there. Do with it what you will, dragon. We will leave you to decide.::_

I trotted back to Gatalas who now leaned against me, tired, patting my neck, "In the end, it's up to him, I guess."

As he checked the girths on my saddle and the stallions' pack saddles, I heard a lapping sound and grinned inside to see the little dragon was now drinking up the broth in the bowl with the intensity of a starving creature- which he was. Leaving him alone to decide had been the right thing to do.

The nutritional broth hopefully gave him energy. The herbs definitely put him to sleep. As he finished the broth, he tried to wash himself by combing a front paw along his muzzle. It put him off of balance. He wobbled with the effect of the herbs and his fever, then toppled over on his side, passing out.

My Rider picked up the limp dragon kitten and cradled him against his chest, "Heh, Horsebutt. He must be out of it on the sleeping drugs. He's purring. He's kind of cute when he's not trying to take my skin off."

His hand shifted on the neck of the dragon, fumbling. After a moment, he removed a cord that had been tied around the little kitten's neck. It was a light chain, now crusted with dried blood. It was quite well crafted, even to my untrained eyes, and it looked to have once been a beautiful piece of art. At the base of it was an elliptical plaque with Firemaker writing on it. Horses don't read, but I could identify the styles of the writing, and this looked like Broomhead runes.

_::Nice way to keep the prisoner in place:: I_ thought sent as Gatalas used a free hand to deposit the chain in a saddle pouch :_:I hope to the gods I never become a RIver Rat's prisoner. I'll take my life first::_

Gatalas nodded grimly, in total agreement with me.

* * *

So, now we were approaching home. We crested the hill and I ambled down, a stallion walking at each side of me.

Of course, they both smelled the horse herds on the borders of our caravan, and they both called off challenges along the line of _::Me here. Come be my love slave, mares in heat!::_

A powerful, silvery call echoed from the hills, _::Intruders, again, is it? Listen, you two! I am the head stallion here! And I sense a Turkmene! What is the password? Who are you? Who is your Rider?::_

I neighed back the code _::"Let us Dance with the Red Death under a Moonless Sky". I am Eyeful, out of the mare, Red WInd, by the stallion Dragonfang. I am born of the Roxalani tribe, but now am Bonded with Gatalas of the Iazyges. We serve under Scepter Holder Banadaspos. I bring with me two mundane stallions who could be good brothers, I believe. Even if they have no manners.::_

A dark liver chestnut stallion with a wide blaze on his face and four white feet floated over the hills and neighed back at us. The stallion of our caravan herd was thin, like all Turkmenes. But there was power in the crest of his neck and chest and hindquarters, and his hooves were as hard as an iron axe. He had bonded with no Rider, but he still appeared among Dragon warriors to fight when Gate crashing invaders attacked, and few enemies ever survived meeting him.

:_:Welcome. You know, then, Eyeful, my name is Deathblood:: _the stallion snorted,_ :: Ah, of course. You two so rarely come here, you are mostly roaming the steppes. You are the mare with the ominous Evil One's coat color, and your Rider is blind Gatalas::_

I snorted in irritation but was too respectful to say more to Deathblood. No one means it personally, but they always identify us the same way: the horse with the evil coat color and the blind rider. Well, guess that means Gatalas and I just have to work harder to change some viewpoints.

The black River Rat stallions tried to pull rank on our herd stallion, but, skinny as he was, Deathblood was agile in horse negotiation tactics. He slipped in among them, kicked out, bit out and belted with his iron hard hooves. In minutes, they backed away, nickering that our Turkmene stallion was the boss.

The herd stallion let us trot past , and his mares and foals called greetings to me.

Soon we were walking among a temporary settlement of caravan wagons. As always, we had drawn the wagons into a circle for the night, oxen and mundane cart horses munching on their hay rations. Turkmenes rested by their Riders´ wagons, but they did not wear hobbles like the cattle and cart horses. It would have been an insult to us and our Riders, both.

"Hoy, Gatalas!" an older Sarmatian rode by us on his Turkmene mare, hand raised in greeting, "You're back, lad! And you're looking very feral and savage, indeed."

Gatalas nodded his head at the thoughtful compliment, "Thank you, Kasagos. May the worms be kind to your corpse."

"You always were such a polite fellow, Gatalas."

I nickered in happiness. I have no idea why non Sarmatians think we are savage barbarians. You couldn't find a more courteous, gracious people than we.

The River Rat stallions were gawking in surprise at this world of brightly painted wagons, cook fires, and colorfully-dressed, chattering Firemakers. Someone was playing a flute, and its melody imitated the call of a steppe bird, its notes floating out over the encampment.

Sparks belched out from a fire near a rather blackened wagon/junk-filled cart and we heard hammers ringing on hot metal in the canopied work area set some distance from our wagon circles. Sarmatian blacksmiths are amazing. It's no easy feat to practice your craft as part of a migrating caravan, but they've developed a mobile forge. What's even more amazing is they have not set fire to the steppe grass.

As usual, the blacksmiths had their audience of children gawking at them while they worked. And it truly was quite a show for most of us. For little kids, it was seeing metal transformed into something of deadly beauty. For young women, it was the opportunity to admire muscular young men without their shirts on. Art appreciation all around.

We Sarmatians are known for our weaving, but we are especially known for our metal work for weapons and jewelry. Banadaspos' tribe is probably the most famous on the steppes for "growing" blacksmiths who leave to serve in other Sarmatian caravans. Indeed, our work is praised in the Settled Lands (though non Sarmatians still find it a bit on the morbid side, the pansies).

All of our Firemaker boys - and a few girls, also- take a turn at serving the blacksmiths with working the bellows as part of growing up. It's a source of easy labor for the blacksmiths and they can use it to gauge who of the next generation might have the Calling. For the younglings, it's a great opportunity to play with fire and hit things without getting scolded, plus a good way to develop the muscles for sword fighting and archery. Also, more than a few fist fights have broken out among boys over who gets to help the blacksmith next, so it's also good training for warfare too, I guess)

We Sarmatians are also maybe the only people in the world whose blacksmiths also happen to be priests. I told you we were weird.

Children ran past us on foot. They were holding up wooden dragon toys and pretending their dragons were fighting each other. The children were getting quite loud, "RAWWWRR!"

"You two, tone it down!" a mother's exasperated voice cut over their shrieks and growls, "Or I'll send you to the Great Prison."

The two kids silenced immediately and now just whispered their roars, r_rrawr_. To a Sarmatian the worst punishment in the world is to be forced to be indoors- also known as a prison. The worst prison of all is the Great Prison, which sits in the Greek speaking lands. It's called Biz-Ant-Yum or some horrific name like that. It sounds like the perfect name for a detention facility.

Traders we've met tell us we Sarmatians are sorely mistaken, and this Bizzy-whatever place is supposed to be the center of cultivation, and it's a city not a prison.

"Really," Gatalas would often say to tease them, "I always thought a city and a prison were the same thing, at least by Sarmatian standards. So Byzantium has a bunch of people forced to sleep in locked down stone wagons surrounded by a great wall with River Rat guards on the parapets shooting at them How is that not a prison?"

As we rode along, I saw Hounds trotting behind their masters, the large and lean sight hounds of the steppes, loyal and loving but also fierce protectors of their Firemaker owners. We also passed by areas where hawks perched, waiting for the hunt.

"Gatalas! Gatalas! You're back, you wild and wooly savage!" a young woman's voice floated past the flute music.

"Darya!" Gatalas leapt off me, a grin splitting his bearded face, "I greet you! My heart leaps in terror at your bone chilling, screeching voice."

I could hear the love they have for each other in those eloquent words, and, indeed, Gatalas and his little sister lovingly hugged each other.

Just right after she hauled back to hit him on the shoulder and he hauled back to hit her on the shoulder. The blows resounded in unison, and they grinned at each other.

It is considered a perfect, auspicious Sarmatian greeting when you can hit each other at the same time before you hug or kiss each other. Even more of an accomplishment for Gatalas, who often had trouble hitting targets without being contact with me.

Darya was a rare dark-haired Sarmatian, her thick brown hair now flowing loose to her waist, held back from her scorching blue eyes by an embroidered head band depicting alternating rose, apple and blood-tipped dagger motifs. Gatalas' sister had quite the skill as a weaver, and many of her carpets decorated wagons in several caravans. She also had made my winter weather horse blanket.

"How are the herds?" Gatalas walked by his sister, an arm around her both for affection and for her guidance. I walked by him, freely. He held one of the stallion's lead ropes in his free hand. Darya took the other horse's lead rope. The stallion showed her his yellow teeth and snapped at her.

She just flicked him on the jaw her fingers and stared at the Viking stallion with a calm but determined gaze. She said softly, "Hoh, hoh, ooosssss," soothing noises that work wonders to calm mundane horses and cattle.

The stallion calmed down and let her lead him, realizing that this slip of a girl was not going to take any guff from him.

"They are well, my disgusting brother. The roan cow had her calf, and the little one will be as pretty as her mother. I was a bit worried since it's late in the year for calving. The sheep are accounted for, and no lambs lost over the summer. We've been lucky. I think we will get a good profit in wool this year- Dad would have been proud."

Gatalas nodded, and I could pick up the pride in his sister. He and she were the only members of our family who survived the Thundering Victory invasion, and Darya had stepped in at a young age to take over their father's sheep herder profession, "Indeed. You're the best, mean little badger. So, have you met a Turkmene yet?"

Darya shook her head, her eyes sparkling, "Nope, butt head. I'm still riding a mundane steppe pony out to check on the flocks. But the Horse Trainer says there will be some colts and fillies who are interested in Bonding. I just have to hope we can convince a Turkmene who wants to be a Herd Master's mount. Of course, you know most of them have their hearts set on being war horses."

_::Well, duh.::_ I thought, ::_We're Sarmatians. What's life without a battle or two to liven things up?.::_ But I did hope Darya Bonded. She was a bouncy, happy soul of a girl, and would make a fine, caring Partner for a Turkmene.

They continued chatting away happily as we unpacked the stallions and gave the supplies they carried to the elderly woman who maintained our supply storage wagons. Then Gatalas and Darya turned the stallions over to the Horse Master, who did indeed comment that the stallions would make good cart horses if they could be trained to forget their Viking upbringing. Either that, or they could forget about being stallions.

Then we were at the wagon that was Gatalas' home when he was not guiding on the steppes. He shared it with three others of our_ azatani, _who were now all out on the mission with Banadaspos. It was painted light blue and red and featured a gracefully delicate depiction of two stags fighting a bloody battle to the death in a serene field of wildflowers.

Darya chatted away with lively stories while helping Gatalas to unpack me and take off my harness and saddle. She squealed in joy over some jeweled earrings and bracelets Gatalas had received during our last merchant caravan guiding, colors that would go well with Darya's skull-and-raven pendant. He'd also brought back a considerable amount of supplies for Darya, his contribution to supporting our family, as tiny as it now was.

A certain covered basket was set gently near the wagon steps.

I never turn down an opportunity for a dual massage, so I leaned into their brushstrokes as they groomed me, cleaning me of the dust and sweat of the journey. Darya asked Gatalas to join her friends and she for dinner at their campfire. Then she had to move along to get a carpet finished and wrapped for delivery to a neighboring caravan.

Gatalas and I had our own special delivery to make.

* * *

Some candlemarks later, as the sun began to sink in the sky and the cows began to come back to the wagons for milking, my Rider and I were positioned near the Healer's wagon. He sat on the steps while I dozed a bit on my feet, my left back leg cocked a bit in sublime laziness.

He had used the chance to visit the steam baths and was sighing in pleasure at being clean again and wearing clean clothes that were more colorful than what he usually wears on his guiding job. He was combing his freshly washed hair, working out the last of the tangles.

The door of the wagon opened and the Healer came down the steps to sit next to Gatalas, "Greetings, Gatalas, and greetings to your mare."

The Healer had been carrying a woven basket like what we use for carrying young puppies. In it was a blanketed bundle. The gentle old healer pulled the top of it aside to reveal a well-dosed, sleeping dragon kitten, "There you go. Sleeping like a baby. I think his fever has broken now, thanks to your medicine and broths you gave him earlier. But I also gave him some solutions that helped."

I snorted and Gatalas turned his head to mine. We both often wondered about these "solutions." One time Gatalas had picked up a fever and the healer had pressed a damp pad on the young man's arm. It had stuck to him and fell off later on its own, but something in the cloth had caused Gatalas to get better quickly. After that point, both he and I had started paying careful attention to the procedures we saw among the healers and the blacksmiths and the star priests. Everything seemed appropriately Sarmatian, but yet these priests were able to accomplish some pretty amazing things that barbarians should not be able to accomplish.

"The fever was the worst of it," the Healer continued, light brown eyes gazing over to see where some of the dairy cattle were being milked, their bells around their necks clanking as they moved slightly." All the other injuries are old. I did have to break and reset the dragon's front leg, so that's splinted up. Now he just needs food and rest and to be as far away from humans as possible."

"So, we'll let him go when he's recovered?" Gatalas asked softly, winding a loose strand of pale blond hair around his left fist, "If he ever would recover completely from the way he was treated."

"I highly doubt he could be released into the wild, young man. I would guess he's been in captivity since he was very young, and he probably has no idea how to hunt or get by in the wild," The healer sighed and ran a hand down the blanket covering the sleeping dragon, "It's so wrong when humans think they can keep a wild animal like a pet if they get it as a baby and bring it up. The poor creature is usually never be able to go back into the wild. It lives always like a cripple: too wild to live with humans and too tame to survive in the wild. And a dragon is not a wild animal, anyway. We all know they are very intelligent and can communicate with humans when they wish to."

_::That dragon was no pet.:: _I reminded Gatalas, _::He was more like a toy doll that some brutal children could bash around because he could not fight back.::_

"So what do we do with him?" Gatalas said softly, "We're responsible for him, now, and after all he's been through, he deserves a chance at life."

I whickered softly in agreement and the healer laughed softly at me.

"Your mare agrees with you. I guess it depends what Banadaspos plans for you, lad, but if you go back on the Steppes as a guide, I'd think this little guy would take to that quite well, at least to begin with. He can ride in the basket you used until his leg heals. He'll hate your guts for a while, I would guess, but you have always been good with creatures, Gatalas. He'll certainly stick around, at first, for the food, and he may come to tolerate you. And it's better for him to only be around one human rather than a whole caravan. Ultimately, though, it would good if he could find others of his kind who would adopt him."

The dragon kitten gave a snorting sigh and shifted a bit, settling into a deeper sleep.

"I know some dragon types move in herds, like the Magnesium Breathers and Sticky Fire Breathers. I have no idea what type this little guy is, he's very different looking from anything I've seen. And he's still too young to really know what type he is. But I hope his people are flock dragons rather than lone wolves," the old man cocked his head like a bird waiting for a worm, "What's that in your hand, Gatalas?"

My Rider handed over the little chain he had carried in, along with the dragon, "This was tied around his neck."

The Healer hissed through his teeth, "Bloody River Rats," he then balanced the plaque with the inscription in his hands, "It looks like something from a Settled Lands monastery- the River Rats do enjoy helping themselves to the items from there. It probably was part of a candle holder- maybe one of those candles they hang from the ceiling. The inscription says, '_Lux denique longe alia est solis et lychnorum'_. The sun shines with a light greater than this candle's."

Most of our Sarmatian Firemakers of higher ranks know the Broomhead language. And, actually, Gatalas knows Latin quite well simply because of his work- it's often the only language that he and the people he guides speak in common.

But, like most Sarmatians, he's illiterate.

And he was onto what just happened the same moment I was.

"Sir, where did you learn how to read?" Gatalas said.

The Healer looked back at Gatalas and I saw a look of wonderment cross his face. A spark danced in his eyes, one of humor.

"You ask good questions, youngling, and you can observe a lot, even without eyes. That's a good skill. But just hold that thought, for now, and keep it to yourself. I've heard said you are a good one to keep secrets."

A tone in his voice was a clue to my Rider who grinned back, "Of course, what was I thinking? Everyone knows all Sarmatians are illiterate"

The old man laughed with soft, slow irony, "Sad that such a chain with a beautiful inscription about light could have been used to hurt a beautiful creature of fire. It was meant to bring peace, not pain. Poor dragon. I only wish I could give him some peace of mind as an herbal cure But I think there is a place where he can get that. He's deep in sleep, so it should be easy to bring him there."

Gatalas and I knew what the old Healer meant, but we were both skeptical, "He doesn't trust us, so I don't think it would work."

"Well, he doesn't trust you, Gatalas, you just happen to be too human. But, based on what you have told me, I think there is someone who he might trust just enough."

The healer reached out a hand and placed it on my head, looking into my eyes, "It's worth a try, anyway."

* * *

Darkness. Dark is good. Dark means no pain. I hate the light because it means pain. First the pain when the light hits my eyes, then the pain because I know the Monsters are

awake and want to make me hurt.

They make pain come out of their hands. They breathe it. It comes out with fire and iron teeth and iron stingers. They have so much pain in them that it spills over , and so they have to make me hurt. Then they make sounds of happiness because they give me their pain and they don't hurt. Instead, I hurt.

They are big. They smell of old blood and iron and dead animal hides. Their breath is hot and smells of rotten meat. They laugh and they do things to make me hurt and I scream and cry tears and they laugh some more. They hit me with iron sticks and sting me and press burning hot iron teeth against me, harder and harder. Sometimes I fight back- not as much as I used since I am not so strong, anymore. When I fight back, they subdue me, and then they really give me pain. Eventually ,it stops when the darkness comes to me and I don't feel them hurt me anymore.

Then I wake up. Then it starts over again until I scream loud enough that the darkness comes back.

And then sometimes I wake and it is dark all around me. The world seems to rise and fall, up and down and up and down until I feel dizzy. I hear water hit against something, but I don't get wet.

Well, at least late at night, they are not hurting me. Sometimes they even leave meat for me to eat and stale water. I hate the meat since it is rotten, but at least the worms in it are fresh.

I think of my life now like layers of leaves on the ground. Each time of pain covers the time before it. Deep down I know there is a layer where there was no pain and light meant something good. Sometimes I even remember things like a vibrating voice that sounds of peace. Or I see someone who has feet like mine and a tail like mine who has a worried voice- I listen to the worried voice and I run.

Yes, I think I actually was able to run at one time before the Monsters dropped me from a high place. I hit the ground, my leg bent out of shape and stayed that way.

But I did not run well enough, for some Monsters reached from the sky and took me and put me in this place of dark and pain where I have been for so long. I think I was not long out of my shell when the Monsters took me. I have been here for a long time, now. I am not an eggling anymore, but something in me says I am still a child and I should not be alone like this. Maybe the creature who looks like me was supposed to protect me.

I figured out long ago why I am here with these Monsters. I think I did something to make the creature who looks like me angry at me, and it must have been something very bad and evil. So this is my punishment. It must be so. Otherwise, the creature who looks like me would have found me and helped me. I just wish I knew what I did wrong so I could fix it and be left in peace.

I no longer remember each thing the Monsters do to me during each period of light. The pain just falls like layers on each other. It is just a blur of darklightpaindarklightpain.

But now something has changed and I am confused.

It started when a Monster rubbed muddy clay all over me, sealed me in an egg of clay. I felt heat as the Monster stuck me in a fire and I heard laughter. I don't know what I am- I know I am no Monster, but they seem to find it funny that a creature like me is put in fire. I picked up some of their words, to my shame. I heard someone grunt something like: "Th´ torture o' th' day. Cookin' the little hostage like food in a clay pot"

They must think fire does not hurt me, but it does, and I screamed and hissed. When it became unbearable, I felt a Monster scoop me out with some sort of metal tool and I felt myself thrown. There was a crack as my body hit against what I think was a tree trunk, and the clay egg broke open and I dropped to the ground, still covered in clay and aching from the fire and the impact, and blood now ran from my nostrils.

Before I could move I was suddenly thrust into a cloth container. I was in the dark again and going up and down, but now I heard deep food thuds. It was one of the four legged black Brute Monsters who have big feet and big teeth. They step on me often and bite me, and they laugh at me, too. Now I was sitting in the cloth sack on top of one of them, and I could not see what it was going to do to me. This was a scary dark.

Now I must fear both dark and light!

Lots of noise. Screaming, thundering sounds without rain. Then, the unthinkable happened

My dark place suddenly ripped open like an egg and I was thrown into the air. I didn't hit against something like when I am usually thrown in air. Instead, I drifted free. There was a part of me that had never moved before that started to move-the usually limp things that come out of my shoulders. But something was not right about those limbs and I screamed in pain as wind blew me backwards.

I let the wind carry me until I fell to the ground. Then there was a blur of memories. Sometimes the wind carried me. Sometimes I dragged myself along the ground while light dug into my eyes. I felt steadily more tired and hot. Finally I found some cool clay near a place with water I and buried myself into the clay. It felt so good for a moment, but then a deep numbness came over me and I realized I didn't care anymore about anything.

I was free, but I had no idea where I was ,and I could not move. Just so tired. So... sick. I wanted darkness again forever.

But I still must be paying for a bad thing I did, I think, because then a new Monster picked me up. I looked at him, but I did not care. He could eat me or make me hurt. It was too late anymore.

Instead, something dripped into my mouth. Thirsty, I started sucking and water slid down my throat. It felt so cool and good. Then hot liquid was dripping into my mouth, and there was a lovely scent to it, something I had smelled long ago and it made me think of that lowest layer of memory, the one that seems good.

I slept.

I woke up to the unpleasant realization that the Monsters had found me again, but I felt a little stronger, so I bit and fought until I was too weak to fight back. Then I cringed down and waited for the blows and iron teeth and iron stingers and hot iron.

But, an amazing thing happened. They did not give me pain. They gave me food. The Monster stayed back, and the Black Brutes stayed back. Instead a creature I had never seen before came to me and laid down a hollow wooden rock filled with food. I was so hungry now and my eyes were blurry with some thick liquid that ran out of them, so I could not really see how the creature looked.

One thing I knew: this was not a Monster. This was something... good.

Oh, food! Real food! It was lovelylovelylovely, warm meat-water. I lapped it up fast to show them I was not afraid of them, but deep down I was surprised. And, even more amazing, it was not wormy carrion food. It was good and rich and filled my stomach with warmth. My stomach was so warm that I went to sleep.

* * *

My sleep got deeper and deeper, then I felt as thought I were having a dream.

I felt myself shift and then was aware of flying again, but I was not being thrown. Instead I was hovering over the ground, swaying up and down. I felt achy, especially in my left front leg. It felt like something stiff and heavy was on it. I heard beats on the ground like the Black Brutes' feet, but these were lighter, softer.

Then I felt teeth on the back of my neck and realized I was being carried. I was still a prisoner.

I snarled and spat and jerked, but pain went up my left leg, and I chirped sharply.

Then suddenly warm water closed over my head and the teeth left my neck. I sank down and down and down, but then my body floated to the top. My head broke the surface, warm drops of water flying off of it.

Oh, this was good! I was lying in a natural lake or pool of hot spring water. Pleasant tingling burst along my sides as a sense of relaxation came over me, a peace I had not felt in my life. It did make me wonder more about that first layer of memory. Maybe my life had been like this.

The water was a strange light purple in color, and the smells that came from it were clean and sweet and good. It was light here, but the light was, strangely, a clean and warm light. A good light.

Is it possible for light to be good?

I let the tiredness drift over me. For a long time, I just lay in the water on my right side and dozed. Eventually I became aware I was not alone.

I stirred and raised my head, my nostrils flaring.

A large creature sitting on its side near the edge of this natural pool. It looked a little like the Black Brutes, but yet it was longer and leaner with less hair. Its ears were longer and its large eyes were not as round as theirs were.

It looked like a large, hornless antelope. Wait! Where did that term come from? How do I know what an antelope is? I've never seen one.

All I usually remember is pain and dark and Monsters who stink of death and blood.

The creature's head had turned so one of its eyes fell on me, but the gaze was calm, not white ringed like the Black Brutes' eyes often were. I felt safe here, and that, somehow, this creature was guarding me.

No one had done that for me before. This creature had given me meat-water to drink. It had put me in this special water that made me feel peaceful. Now it was watching over me.

All I could think was it was probably trying to get me to relax so it was easy to hurt me later on.

Even as I thought that, the thought slipped from my head. It was though the water was somehow washing it away.

Then I felt stronger and I wanted to see more, even though I also wanted to stay in this hot spring. I paddled to the edge of the water, and my left foreleg seemed to have no pain any longer.

The creature stood up and shook itself, scattering blades of sweet green grass. (Grass! Another word I thought I did not know!)

I saw now it was a weird color, like a new-born flame, a glowing pale yellow orange. It was a darker reddish-brown color on its face and legs and tail, and there was a white marking that ran down its face, between its eyes. A red- brown stripe ran down its back from shoulder to tail, and lots of small stripes marked its neck, shoulders and legs. I could not help thinking that I, also, have stripes on me, too, but not red-brown. I glanced at my legs and saw they were now very dull in color. I saw no stripes. But a part of me knew that I was striped. Or had been before the Monsters took me to punish me.

The creature made a quiet noise to me, something that sounded like purring. Wait! Purring- where did_ that _term come from? How do I know what purring is? All these things are jumping from my head. I guess now the pain is going away, there is room for other things to come out of my thoughts.

The creature looked like it wanted to talk to me, but I had no idea what it was trying to say. I did not mean to, but I hissed in irritation at it.

I hunched into myself and slid back into the water, whimpering, waiting for the blow of anger and the laughter at my pain.

Nothing of the sort happened. Indeed, nothing happened. The creature just waited, large nostrils moving. It was a strange creature, thin and weird. Not ugly, but not beautiful, either.

The creature showed its teeth and gestured with its head. It wanted to pick me up out of the water, but it wanted me to agree.

I barked at it, a quick yip. I wanted to stay in the water, but I also wanted to see more of this place, so this time I would let myself be carried.

The creature lifted me out of the water in its teeth, using the loose patch of skin on the back of my neck. It did not hurt, so I did not mind to be carried this way. I got the sense I would not be able to walk well on my own for long, anyway. I let the creature carry me and stared at this world of green beauty we walked through. Words I thought I had forgotten came to my mind: grass, clouds, feather-singers, sun.

But then things began to get darker around us, not in a bad way, but more like night was coming to this place. I smelled a crisp clean scent I remembered from a very long time ago. I think it comes from a... tree. That is the word, yes. A tree with strange spikes that fall to the ground and smell so good. And the tree's top never turns brown.

The creature stopped suddenly, and I heard a sharp intake of breath rattling through its nostrils. It sounded very cautious, and I felt dread rise in me.

The creature lowered me to the ground. I was now sitting curled up between its front legs. Confused, I looked up at it. It was big enough to stomp on me, yet I sensed that it would not hurt me. The creature seemed more worried about another creature that I now saw lying in front of us.

My creature jerked with its head, indicating I should go forward.

Wha-? And let this blue-black creature curled up in front of eat me? Are you crazy?

My creature stomped softly on the ground and made that purring noise, its nostrils fluttering. I realized it wanted me to go forward, that this creature in front of me could help me,but this creature in front of me would not help my creature.

Maybe it would even attack my creature? Had my creature hurt it? It looked like it was missing part of its tail. Maybe my creature had bitten the tail part off?

I resolved to fight with all my power if my creature betrayed me or if this creature attacked me. But there was also something about the creature in front of me that intrigued me.

I thought it looked like me. I had never seen myself, but I did know I walked on four legs and had a long tail and those strange limbs that came out my shoulders. Just like this creature did.

Curious, I approached the sleeping creature, glancing back to see my creature. It remained standing, but then it took a step and melted into the darkness. I got the impression it was still there, watching over me. But it wanted to hide from the creature before me.

I limped forward, hobbling on three legs, my useless left front leg held stiff in front of me. My tail slid out to keep me balanced. It was good I was not far away, since I felt so awkward and that I could not walk for long before collapsing in exhaustion.

The creature in front of me let out a rumbling snort and opened its eyes, as though it were waking from a sleep. Well one of its eyes. The other eye looked swollen shut, as if the blue-black creature had been in a fight not too long ago. I could see, now, bruises scoring its hide and a white cloth tied tightly around one shoulder.

Its gaze locked with mine. The working eye seemed to be a deep green color with gold flecks in them. There was no emotion in the gaze, just curiosity.

I would have dropped onto my front legs in submission if I had a working set of legs.

The creature growled at me, lifting up its lips to show a powerful set of jaws with strong, white teeth.

I snarled back, trembling. Something in me wanted to roll over and show my stomach, but something in me also was ready to fight.

The creature was sitting up now, and I could see now a beautiful world behind it, a place rich with clean smelling trees and a large body of sweet water. High rock walls stretched into the air, and the moon seemed to hang low in the sky.

The creature was very dark, and it had several things jutting from its head- things like ears. Huge, long limbs were folded up on its sleek back, and a tail almost as long as mine waved slowly back and forth. I saw that what I had thought was a missing tail part actually did have replacement on it: a strange sort of hide that resembled a real skin and bone tail part.

And one more thing. This creature smelled like a Monster had touched it, but the creature was still alive.

That is why I was growling! I smelled a Monster.

The dark creature now looked puzzled at me and then gave a very long toothy grimace like it was pleased in an evil way. Probably thinks it's amusing to watch little me try to fight back before he casually leans over and eats me in one gulp.

I felt an odd pressure in my head, as though something were pushing from the inside out. I snarled even louder and hissed long and hard.

The creature gave a sharp growl that silenced me. It looked intently at me, eye narrowed not in anger but in concentration. It gestured sharply with its head and snorted. Somehow I got the impression it was telling me to remain still, that it needed to talk to me, and I had to stay still for that.

I hunched down and growled again, but I remained still. I felt the pressure against my head. It grew stronger and stronger, like someone was trying to remove something from my skull. It did not hurt; it just felt odd.

I felt my head drop forward on my neck and a sense of dizziness, then a thread of drool dribbled from my mouth.

Suddenly there was a great crack inside of me and a flash of light behind my eyes. I snarled and shook my head.

Something seemed more airy and, well, brighter in my mind. It felt natural, like everything before this moment had been blocked in a cave behind a rock.

I barked in surprise. What did you do?

_::No. Think it. Otherwise, I won't understand you. Think it. Like I am, right now:: _ a voice suddenly echoed in my skull.

That's you? You're talking in my head?

_::No, no, no. Try again. Think it.::_

Okay, whatever you suggest.

So I thought it. _ ::It::_

_::Oy. Well, I did ask for it, didn't I::_

:_:I just said "It". You want me to say "it"again? Actually, I just said it again. That's three times now, I've said "it." Whoops, four!.::_

_::Smart ass, aren't you? _

_::What is an ass?::_

The creature in front of gave an exasperated groan and sank to its original sitting position, _::I must have done something really bad today, and I am paying for it.:: _

It shook its head until the strange ear-like things on its face rattled, :_:Just go to a lake and look at your reflection. You'll have an answer to your question::_

I had the feeling like I had just been insulted, but I was not about to try and fight with something who looked like this strong and fierce fellow. Hmm. Yes, this was a "He" creature, I decided. The thought speech seemed rather masculine.

:_:Did you do something to make me... talk... like this?::_

_::Of course:: _the creature snorted, :_:For some reason, you've never had your memory stone opened, so you could not do thought speech. It's something your parents should have done for you. I assume something happened to your parents.::_

I shook my head, dazed by all this new way of communication _::I don't know what happened. I... think I had parents. Yes, I am pretty sure I had parents. Whatever they are.::_

The creature actually started laughing. I snarled a bit in warning.

The creature still laughed, but I sensed it was from humor, not viciousness :_:I should hope so. Most of us tend to have parents. It's a bit hard to enter the world without them.::_ the creature's one working eye narrowed, again, _::You're sure a weird one, aren't you, Junior? You're very young, but you're obviously not a baby even though you are tiny in size. And you never learned the basics, not even how to communicate with thought speech. What happened?::_

_::I... don't know. I don't even know what I am, let alone what happened to me or my parents. Am I ...a ...smart ass?::_

The creature in front of me was now on his back in what I could only describe as laughter. He kicked his legs in delight, tongue lolling out.

_::Hey, you're being mean!:: _I snarled_, ::I honestly don't know. I've been captured by some sort of Monsters and now I am finally free. There's so much I never learned. It's NOT FUNNY!::_

Something in my new found thought speech must have made an impression. The creature now had rolled to its feet, its shoulder limbs out. It snorted hard, like it was trying to keep from laughing, _::I do apologize, youngling. Your words were just were so funny I had to laugh. And, I thank you for that. As you can tell from my black eye and this bandage on my shoulder, I've had a bit of a rough time lately. Your questions are so refreshing in their innocence that I had to laugh.::_

He took a closer look at me and then his working eye filled with sadness, _::Oh, Sky Lady. You really look like you took some hard blows there. I do apologize, kid. I did not realize... you really have been through something horrible.::_

I kept my head lowered and lips peeled back, not sure whether to snarl or not, :_:I'll live. But can't you tell me what I am and what you are and why am I here talking to you?::_

_::You deserve that ,at least. Well, kiddo. You and I are both People, also known as "dragons." You know: big creatures, fly with wings, breathe some sort of fire. Talk with Thought-speech::_

I had no idea what "wings" were, but the thought that I could breathe fire seemed kind of amazing, and I could not help feeling a bit happier.

_::And you are on the Dreampaths. I know, it sounds dumb. I am just getting used to this myself. Apparently, when you link up with Firemakers, you get this ability to communicate with other Mind speaking creatures in their dreams. ::_

_::Firemaker- but, that's a dragon, right?:: _I tilted my head.

_::No. Firemakers are the only other creatures besides us who can... well, make fire. They look like this:: _

He projected an image of a Monster to me. I don't remember the details of how the vile beast looked, but I know a Monster when I see one!

_::Uh, you can stop screaming now, junior, unless you want to wake up.: t_he dragon said to me, worry in his thought speech.

_::No way! No way! There is no way I bonded with a Firemaker! They are the Monsters who hurt me! I HATE THEM!::_

The dark dragon leaned back as if I had blasted him with really foul smelling breath, _::Easy on the thought speech, kiddo. Do you want to crack your memory stone?:: _ He shook his head and scratched his jaw with a front paw.

The dragon continued, ::_Look, I just bonded with a Firemaker not too long ago, so I am new to all this. I'd guess from those scars on your body and the way you just screamed, you are not Bonded with one. Maybe you're here as a guest, like you needed to meet another dragon to open your memory stone? Who knows. You're kind of weird, so maybe the rules don't apply to you. Anyway, here you are, and here I am. Any other questions?::_

I forced myself to breathe slower, _::We're both dragons, but we seem to look different from each other.::_

_::Yes, well, we are a diverse People. Many tribes exist. I am a Lightning Person... or, at least, I used to be one:: _the dragon´s tone became sad and heavy, and he was silent for a moment, head lowered. Then the dragon looked me over again, wincing in sympathy at my collection of scars, :_:I honestly have to say I have never seen a Person like you. But, then, again, there are many tribes, so it's not surprising. It would be nice if you could find one of your kind::_

I sat back on my haunches and thought it would be nice, too. But a deep part of me felt it was not likely. I know the Monsters who had imprisoned me had been traveling Monsters. How far had those Monsters taken me on their journeys? Maybe I was so far from my original home I would never know who my People were.

Except for the strange creature who had helped me with the healing water, I seemed to be all alone.

Oh, and also this nameless black Lightning Person.

Said nameless, black Lightning Person-dragon yawned, deeply, _::I think I am drifting into a deeper sleep, so you'll have to excuse me. I... believe.. that happens sometimes. You dream many dreams in the night, so I think this one may not be my last. I... probably will not remember this dream.:: _ another yawn, :_:But, I hope I meet you again, young one. And good luck::_

_::Thank you for helping me! And... what is your name?::_ I asked, but I never heard the answer. I felt like everything was fading away, like I was waking up.

* * *

Instead I was suddenly aware of sunshine in my eyes. I shook my head, snorted, and then realized I was now awake. I was lying curled up in a warm woven grass nest with a warm woven sheet wound around me. It smelled of Monster, but it felt also smelled of sweet herbs and was soothing in its warmth, too. Too soothing for me to try and throw it off.

I felt clean and dry and safe.

I still felt weak and dizzy, but there was an edge of energy in me that had not been there before. More of the warm meat-water was placed next to my nest in that unusual wooden container, just close enough so I could lean over and lap it up. I did so, feeling warmth travel down to my stomach.

Ah, how wonderful to not feel the pains of hunger or thirst!

I lifted my head, broth dripping from my muzzle. The world that greeted me was... beautiful. A golden field stretched until it met with the bright blue sky. I saw grass waving. I heard birds singing. I felt crisp air blow past the side of my face, yet the basket and sheet kept me warm.

There was no sign of Monsters, but I did hear a swishing noise. I turned my head to see the same pale orange creature from that strange experience that had just happened to me... while I was sleeping? The creature nodded its head and then went back to nosing at the ground for grass, its reddish brown tail swishing in the air behind it.

_::Open your mind, if you will?:: _Now I heard the voice, a female one.

I hesitated for a moment, not quite comfortable with all this, but then I nodded my head, _::Yes.::_

_::Good.:: t_he creature seemed to smile with its voice, _::Be welcomed. Now rest. The sun is good for you.::_

The creature would not let me answer, but instead moved further away, leaving me. But she still remained close enough to be watching for me, all while eating grass.

I yawned and realized I was still tired, and I would probably fall asleep again. So, until then, I just lay with my head on my paws and watched this new world in front of me. This land of grass may have seemed dull and featureless, but at the moment I think it was the most beautiful landscape I had seen in my life.

My new life.


	5. They do this with Smoke and Anvils

**BLIND SPOT, Chapter 5**

**They Do this With Smoke and Anvils**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the galaxy, so that means I don't own much of what's in the galaxy, including the characters of HTTYD. They belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks. Time theories are a homage to Heinlein's World of Myth theories.**  
**

**"**_One can judge from experiment, or one can blindly accept authority. To the scientific mind, experimental proof is all important and theory is merely a convenience in description, to be junked when it no longer fits._**"- **R. A. Heinlein, _Life-Lines_

And another Heinlein chapter. This one is otherworldy, but in the sense of metaphysics or quantum theory. I am no expert in this, so it's mostly presented here for a "what if" rather than a  
"why this is" viewpoint. A lot of Heinlein's fiction was on the "What if" angle. It may not be possible (and probably isn't), but it's interesting to play out the idea it could be and explore what this would mean to humans and dragons.

This is a quieter chapter, one to introduce some important ideas for this and some other HTTYD stories I plan to write. Things will start picking up action again in the next chapter.

Oh, and thanks to **WhiteFang333** for his basic ideas I used for the Sarmatian Love Song contained in this chapter.

* * *

"Ah, it's a new day! Morning! One more day closer to facing death! Joy sings in my heart at my mortality and how I will one day feed the maggots!"

I looked up from my nosing around for grass and saw Gatalas was awake and greeting the day in that embarrassingly fluffy way Sarmatians often do. I shook my head but let him have moment of soft sentimentalism, though it was not easy to hold back a sarcastic snort.

Sometimes our cuddly wuddly cuteness just is way too sticky sweet for me to handle.

Gatalas clumped down out of his wagon, dressed in bright green and blue, intricately embroidered, caravan clothes. They suited his coloring well. He had learned to fold his clothes in certain ways by color, and he had some hidden instinct that, blind as he was, he wound up being a snazzy dresser on those rare moments in the caravan when he could dress with a bit more style.

He yawned and leaned backwards, arms held out clasped behind him. He grunted in satisfaction as sleep cramped muscles loosened back into position.

"So, I sense the sun is coming up. What kind of day is it, friend?"

I scoped the horizon, :_:It will be cloudy, I think. But no rain. Cold, though. Winter's coming.::_

"All is well, then. Each day is a gift from Marha. Then, _doostam_, I greet you for the day." He did the traditional Sarmatian greeting, stretching out his hand and giving a little bow to me. He would do this to me as his Partner, but also to any Sarmatian Firemaker friend he met.

I ducked my head in respect and touched my muzzle to his, affirming our bond; a Firemaker would have reached back and clasped hand to hand, _::I greet you, Rider. May it be a good one for all of us.::_

There is a saying among the Scythians and Sarmatians: Each day, greet first your god. Then greet your spouse. Then greet your horse.

Gatalas added extra to it and threw his arms around me, hugging me, as he often does. I breathed in the smells of the herbs he used in the steam bath and the mint he used when he cleaned his teeth

I put my head over his shoulder and nickered, and we embraced as bond Partners. We needed no words, but we were so glad we had found each other. I was his eyes, and he was my touchstone for trust in myself, because he trusted in me so much.

The only thing that would have made it more complete was if there had been a middle part to the "Greet Your Day" trilogy, the spouse bit. I hoped someday there would be a man and a woman who came down those steps to greet me.

Then we broke away before it became too fluffy.

_::I saw Toothless on the Dreampaths::_

"How was he, Horsebutt?" Gatalas asked, concern coloring his deep, gravelly voice.

_::I did not talk to him. I think after what happened, he may be very upset with you and me. Besides, I think this moment was meant for the kitten, not for me.:: _ I shook my head to clear sleep mice out of my own brain and gave a yawn to match my Rider's, :_:He had a black eye and an injured shoulder and some scars, but otherwise he seems to be doing well, considering the circumstances.::_

"Good to hear. That snippety Lightning Breather made it clear Toothless was gravely injured and done for. I'm glad if he proved her wrong."

_::He still seemed to be hurt in spirit, though:: _I thought-sent, bunting my muzzle against my Rider's shoulder, _:: I did not hear what he told the little one, but I could sense sorrow about him. The little one did make him laugh, and he seemed more hopeful after that.::_

"And, tell me, dear one, what are you not saying? Probably the same thing I am not saying?"

::_But of course, Rider dear. Whether we intended it or not, we wronged Toothless. First the River Rat boy shot off his tail fin. And, now, you and I did an action that let his people shoot him straight into borderline insanity and oblivion. How do we fix that? Our innocent actions have crippled Toothless... again!::_

Gatalas bumped his head against my neck, wrapping an arm around my jaw. I laid my head on his shoulder, "It's been on my mind ever since Her Divineness told us. We have dishonored a friend and, by so being, dishonored the family name. We'll have to mention this to the priests and face the penance if there is any hope of restoring honor."

_::But, that means...:: _I thought, mentally inserting the requisite: _Dat, duh, duh._

"Honor fight to the death. Retribution, however in the name of the Lie, you could get us to meet Toothless when we are so far apart from each other," Gatalas sighed, "Dreampaths, most likely. But we have to do it. Otherwise, as part of a dishonored family, Darya has no chance of finding a spouse- and people might not want to even trade with her."

This was, indeed, true. Honor is all important to our people. Gold and jewels and cattle can be taken from you, but no one can take away your honor if you have preserved it justly.

Okay, you can stop laughing now. I know we must sound like the feral barbarians we are, way too naive for our own good (at least we're naive until you engage us in battle). That's the problem with civilization and places like the Bizzy-whatever Great Prison. They corrupt your thinking, make you ally with the Lie under the Earth, sell your honor for espionage and wealth and power. You get lots of money and then lock yourself behind your wheel less wagon because you can't trust anyone you meet since they might be out for revenge.

Come to think of it, wasn't the Great Prison founded by Broomheads? Well! There you go!

I know you're probably thinking: well, duh- why doncha just NOT tell the priests about it? Nobody knows, everything's fine.

Nope, sir or ma'am, that ole sight hound just don't spot the prey. You see, Gatalas and I would know about it, and it would affect our demeanor. People or horses would know something was wrong. And, with Lil Miss Blabbermouth out there gladly sharing the Tale of the Traitors who Trashed Toothless, the Priests _would f_ind out.

Better all around to face the situation with honor and accept the price for our actions.

I still could not stomach the thought of taking on Toothless. I had seen how big he had grown, and how powerful. While small for a dragon, he was at least as tall as me- and far heavier. And he could do short enough glides on his injured tail fin to be able to attack me from the air. It would not be glorious- blind guy armed with a bow, riding a crazy mare, taking on a swift and dangerous plasma striking dragon. Either we go down, burned and slashed open, or the dragon goes down, writhing in agony from a well shot scythian-tipped arrow into the eye.

Not pretty.

I also could not, in the history of both Sarmatian and Turkmene, remember a case of an honor fight between a human and a dragon. It certainly would be more like an honor suicide mission.

"Well, the Priests will advise and lay the proscriptions on the family, if needed," Gatalas straightened up from me. He turned around and leaned now with his back against my neck and shoulder. He crossed his arms and smiled sadly back at me.

I broke the contact and changed the topic. No use worrying about things we cannot control at the moment.

_::I think Toothless opened the kitten's mind. The little guy actually mindlinked with me earlier this morning. He's welcoming contact with us! He has no reason to trust us, but at least he is willing to Mindlink. So there is hope.::_

"Good. So, where is he?"

I jerked my muzzle showing where the kitten's basket was placed, well behind me. Before I had been sung onto the Dreampaths with the little dragon kitten, Darya and her friends had hitched up some oxen and moved Gatalas' wagon from the circle so the kitten would not be surrounded by impressions of Firemakers. Other then the Healer, no one yet knew about the dragon. Gatalas had gotten away with the ruse that he was still not used to being among so many people yet after being many months alone on the steppes.

We were still, though, within Mindlinking distance with other Firemakers and Turkmenes in case of danger.

_::He's sleeping now. I think he'll be sleeping a lot. He needs it, the poor kid.::_

"_Bale._ He has little reason to trust us, that's for sure." Gatalas stood up again, "Well, I had a nice evening with Darya and her friends. It was lovely to be around her and trade insults. I also learned a pretty love song that Saios wrote for his lady. Remind me to sing it for you, sometime. And we had garlic lamb kabobs and someone even broke out a flask of khoumas."

_::Never a good thing in my horsey opinion.::_

"Always a good thing in my Firemakery opinion! Khoumas is ambrosia!" Gatalas laughed and kissed the index and third finger of his right hand, raising it to the sky in approval of something delicious.

_::Look, Monkey Boy, if the Sky Lady had intended for Firemakers to get drunk on milk, he would have had us mares give fermented milk. Probably would not be good for the foal population, though.::_

"Spoilsport."

_::Shallow hedonist.::_

"Whatever. Obviously we have different views on the virtues of mare's milk as an adult beverage", Gatalas laughed low in his throat. He and I enjoyed bickering this way, and it had not happened often enough, lately, "Anyway, one of the blacksmith apprentices came to our fire and asked me to come visit the forge today... and to bring you."

I tossed my head, _::That works out well, then. Blacksmiths are priests, so we'll just deal with this dishonor thing and take it from there.::_

"Indeed." Gatalas said, solemn again, "Well, at least they'll feed us before they destroy us."

* * *

We made sure the kitten was tucked away safe under the wagon. He seemed pretty deep in sleep again after the dosed broth, and we hoped he'd have the presence of mind to stay in his basket. He did seem to have a good sense of self preservation about him, and I hoped we'd shown him enough that he was safe for the moment.

Gatalas swung up on my back and, within moments, we were trotting towards the separated area of the forge wagons. We could have walked it, but we have our pride. Everyone knows Sarmatians ride everywhere whenever possible. He rode me bareback, as we often do for short distances. Since a Firemaker stays on a horse mostly by gripping the knees, there was no real need for a saddle for such a short trip. And he turned me by a squeeze of his leg or a thought, so having a bridle had never been necessary for our kind of partnership.

I rather like the bareback riding myself. It puts us in better contact with other, and we subconsciously move in rhythm as though we were one creature. Our thought speech even gets stronger. Maybe that's the story behind the half horse/half man being the Greeks created, the centaur. Back in our timeline, Greek traders would often visit the steppes and do business with both our Scythian cousins and us. They'd come back with tales of how closely humans and horses lived together. It takes just one more step for people who have never seen us to imagine we were actually one creature.

As we approached the portable forge, I snorted, expecting smoke, but none was burning yet.

Instead the smiths were at their morning prayers, ringed around a natural small hill not far from the forge. All four of them had their heads down, arms crossed in front except for the Master Smith. He held a beautiful, slender_ akinake_ sword with a ring pommel. Even from our distance I could see the distinctive Sarmatian tamga runes chasing up its blade.

Behind them, a large group of our Firemakers had gathered. The ritual lent a sense of order to their day, so many attended.

The Master Smith/Head Pries nodded to Gatalas as I trotted up and came to a halt. My Rider slid off me and joined the group, helped in the right direction with a nudge from me. Folding his head, he lowered it and joined their prayers, incidentally standing next to the smiths.

I found it touching how small and scrawny he seemed among the bulkier smiths, even though Gatalas is neither.

No words were spoken. The Master Smith, a grizzled sandy haired elder, nodded at Gatalas. He then raised the sword over head, turning it so the edge pointed down. With a grace that seemed odd for his massive arms, he swiftly plunged the blade into the grassy mound so the hilt stood out.

He started to chant aloud, singing the morning fire song of the sun, thanking the gods for giving us a new day. Asking Marha, god of fire, of dragons and of the forge to bless our people and speak their will through the smiths' hands. Whatever they created today would reflect the minds and intents of Marha and his brethren, so the smiths wanted to give their best work. He also gave thanks to Tabiti, the Earth Mother, among the strongest of the deities.

Every once in a while, the others would agree with a soft-spoken _"Bale."_

As the Forge Priest sung, he bent down and picked up a small dish filled with blessed sheep's blood. He poured it over the ground at the base, and we all watched it soak in, nourishing the Earth Mother's soil and the Wind and Fire gods' sword. While the priests were honoring Marha, they also were paying respect to the wind god. The sword represents the wind, and blacksmiths make swords. It all is interconnected.

We remained at the mound and said our own prayers in our thoughts. While Marha and the Wind God are not my deities, I do think Gatalas was asking for guidance for how to deal with two certain dragon fellows who had come into our lives.

One of the other smiths approached the portable forge and corked open a ram's horn that contained still living embers from yesterday's fire. This younger and leaner smith touched the coals it to the fuel that had already been laid out (precious wood, dung, turf) He blew on it until the fire caught. It burst into life in tongues of red and gold, and behind him was a sigh of relief. It's a good sign when the fire starts quickly.

Then someone cheered, followed by everyone else.

One of the local kids who had been the bellows volunteer built the fire up more as the Forge Master Smith made the final blessing with his hands.

His face split into his usual, cheerful grin, showing a few missing teeth from a forge accident many years ago, "Then, so the day begins. Good bread. Good meat. Good gods, let's eat! "

When he was not being a mighty and powerful priest (and all that implies), Dasados was a gentle bear of a man- the total image you think of when you think "blacksmith." He had receding, close cropped sandy hair and, unusual for a Sarmatian, kept his round, heavily jowled face clean shaven. Most of the blacksmiths tended to have shorter hair and no beards- long hair attracted sparks.

His gray-blue eyes were warm with friendliness, but they had a strange otherworldly look to them, usually a sign of him dreaming of a new design or invention to make our caravan life easier. He wore the typical kurta and riding trousers, but he had no shirt under his kurta- it would soon get too warm over the fire for him even to wear that. The arms and chest we could see under the rose-brown kurta had the blurrier lines of age, but there was still a lot of power and strength in the muscles- certainly Dasados was stronger than most of our archers.

He placed his massive hand on Gatalas' shoulder, "I greet you, Gatalas! May your phlegm always run clear. My, you have grown! I remember when you were a slip of a thought, a little freckle faced scamp with those big... big... uh... I can't remember what color your eyes were."

"Neither can I," Gatalas shrugged sadly, "Don't worry about it. It is nice to meet you again, too, Dasados."

"Well, I'm being insensitive, " the smith boomed, "Thank you for coming. And, please! Join us for breakfast."

We broke our fast outside, then, as we waited for the fire to gain in strength. Smiths started rolling out bright, beautifully woven carpets onto the grass and began opening covered dishes and flasks. More Sarmatians came out of wagons, bringing covered dishes, never one to miss a communal feast. Soon a group of black smiths, Star Priests, apprentices and many of our neighbors were sitting on the blankets, munching on bread, fresh milk and dried apples, steamed barley, dried meat jerky, lamb stew, boiled milkweed pods and more.

Banter and happy chatter floated over the air to where we horses stood, munching on our own alfalfa hay with a few dried apples sneaked in for treats.

This was a daily ritual that had started when we made the Crossing. The blacksmiths had to eat breakfast, and they needed a lot of food for their strength. People enjoyed bringing leftovers warmed over and joining in an impromptu potluck breakfast. I thought it was amusing that, to an outside observer, it would be hard to tell the priests from the non priests. Everyone was dressed colorfully, and Sarmatian priests are nomads on the move- they have to live practically, and many are skilled horse warriors in their own right, many with Turkmenes. They need to always be ready to move, so no heavy draping fabrics or head gear. Still, their clothes bore intricate designs.

I liked the blacksmith priests. They needed to have no pretense or mystery about them; their magic was in what they created. Their worship was simple, and they were a people who worked hard, laughed hard and played hard.

But their faith was very real. You had to have the Gift for it, and you had to spend many years apprenticed to learn the craft- and the rituals. Blacksmiths are the mediators between Marha and the Sarmatians, and to a people on the steppes, their inventions may be beautiful, but they also spell the difference between life and death. Plus, they maintain the fires- the loss of a fire to a caravan was a very serious matter. It's even more serious when a fire jumps out of control and destroys things.

More laughter. A strawberry blond young man started singing a love song, accompanied by a plump, pretty young woman on a flute.

_So, now you have my heart, my love._

_It lies beating in your hand, gentle rose._

_So sweetly your sword tore it from my chest._

_May the dripping blood not ruin your clothes._

_My guts cry to be wrapped around your sword_

_And I would wish you to pull them out as far as they go._

_For, I bet, as long as they seem to stretch._

_My devotion for you is longer, you must know._

_I always want to remember you this way_

_With a feral grin and blood on your face._

_"Oh, please, don't let this feeling end," I pray_

_As you smash an axe on my head, with wond'rous grace_

_Oh, I love you, woman, I truly do!_

_I regret how quickly our times together pass._

_After a night of love, I'm not always left in one piece._

_But I know that bruises and cuts don't last._

Whistles and claps filled the air in admiration for the youth's clever song skills. More than a few young women blushed, hoping that they would make a young man feel that way someday.

Some sparks danced from the fire, flying up towards the movable pole where the Forge Priests had hung a cat-sized sculpture of Marha riding his golden dragon, the god watching over the forge. Almost every wagon in our caravan has a tiny replica of these that the family places on a pole near its cook fire, and they all were made by these smiths out of finely crafted bronze.

The god is a built like our _azatani_ archers, lean, wiry, agile as a flame. He is the color of flames: golden skin, streaming long, red hair and beard ,and amber eyes. He wears a golden replica of the our archers' leather cuirass and trousers, but no helmet. He holds a flaming arrow to his bow, ready to strike out at those who are untrue and dishonorable.

His dragon, of course, is our legendary Sauromatae Draco, like the one who sits atop our banner pole. But this one has a full body with two sets of wings and birdlike feet, and long antenna streamers flying from its muzzle, imitating Marha's streaming hair. This dragon wears a saddle and harness similar to what we Turkmenes use, with the flat saddle pad, fendered edges and a neck collar and handle.

But the thing most distinctive about this little sculpture is that Marha has only one leg: he was freed of his lower left leg by Broomheads during the Thundering Victory.

The Broomheads thought they were being funny and putting the barbarian god in his place by sawing off Marha's leg, but they soon found themselves facing down a charging group of battered but not beaten blacksmiths, proving their tools could be used for more than forging. Still, the Broomheads' horses were faster than the smiths' cart horses, and they made off with the statue. Later, they had returned it us, but only after our priests agreed to "liberate" it with gold.

When we had surrendered and made the Crossing (yes, I was around for that, but still very, very young and recently bonded), the statue of Marha had been one of the first items pulled out of the wagons. Dasados had lifted it up and examined it, shaking his head at how battered it was. The Broomheads had not treated the little statue well. Around the Master Smith, a few of the smiths started crying, as did many of the non priest Firemakers. The statue was a flawed depiction of Marha. It would have to be destroyed, but so many of the Firemakers had grown up seeing that little dragon rider hanging over the forge fire that he had become a symbol for our caravan,

Dasados had not said anything. He just took in his breath, wiped a bit of the mud and ash from the dragon's face. He touched Marha's now-knife gouged forehead and kissed his hands.

Then, whistling quietly as if nothing was wrong, he pulled out the pole, erected it next to the forge, and hung our amputated dragon rider statue in its usual place. "Damned if I am going to throw away an old friend who's always watched over us," he had said hoarsely, "I don't care if the avatar is one legged. It does not matter. He's like us. He rides rather than walks. As long as he has the Draco, he'll be whole. Same as us. We're battered, and we lost our homeland and our way of life. But we're going on with our life in this new place and time. And he'll watch over us. As always. I think Marha would understand that. He doesn't need two legs to create fire. It comes from within."

Someone had started to stomp in approval, followed by more stomping, clapping and loud ululations of joy. Even we Turkmenes shrilled neighs of approval.

So, our damaged avatar watches over the forge. And all the new incarnations of Marha and the Draco that have been made since the Crossing always show Marha as one legged. It's who we are, now: the Broomheads clipped our wings, but we still can fly.

Breakfast began winding down, and people started dispersing, picking up bowls to take back to their wagons.

Finally, Dasados, the Master Smith , nodded and wiped his face, "Gatalas, we have some things we wanted to discuss with you."

Gatalas, who had been picking at the delicious food, looked up, "Sir?"

"_Bale_. We knew you were sent back from the Sandspitters with an honorable discharge."

Gatalas nodded, "I disobeyed orders. I know. I won't offer any excuse for it. But, sir, isn't this in regards to the Lightning Breather, Toothless? I understand my Turkmene and I wronged him. His people destroyed his brain as a..."

In spite of his calm nature and fierce face, Gatalas' voice stretched a bit thinner. The thought of a beautiful creature and friend suffering because of us was hard.

"What _are_ you talking about, son of Gatretes?" Dasados interrupted my Rider, the smith shifting himself on his crossed legs to a more comfortable position.

So Gatalas told him everything, describing our meeting with the female Lightning Breather and what we had learned. Around him, smiths had started laying out implements for the day, and the air started to fill with quiet discussions about the projects: a sword, repair to a Side Strangler chamfron, some new Marha avatars for two new families who had joined our caravan.

When he finished, Gatalas adjusted his peaked leather hat on his head, as if trying to make himself look as dignified as possible for the final blow. By now the other smiths had stopped and were listening as well- the word "dragon" tends to be an attention getter among our people.

Three of the Star priests had also come back and were leaning against the cart, two women and a man.

"I... see," Dasados said, softly, "So, you wish to regain your honor in a fight with your Lightning Breather friend? Really? A human duel with a dragon for honor?"

Gatalas nodded and, behind him, I stomped a front hoof in agreement.

Dasados quirked an eyebrow, a move that made him look like a puzzled bear, "Well, that's a new one. Considering the circumstances, though, Gatalas, it's not you who challenges this, uh, Toothless. If he has been wronged, then he has the right to challenge you, but that has to be his choice. You'll have to let him decide." The smith stretched, and we all heard the crack of his spine, and his pleased grunt as it brought his sore back relief, "But, you know the outcome of this, already. The Firemakers of the Western lands tell great stories of how one lone human and a horse can defeat a dragon. But we Sarmatians know the only way we have been able to drive back the invading dragons lately has been as an army. "

The smith blew out a sigh, "Essentially, you'll be exposing yourself to Toothless to kill you. If he kills you on the Dreampaths, you'll die in reality. You do know that."

"Yes," Gatalas said, "I know."

"And, yet, you still would put yourself at this risk? Are you crazy, lad?" Dasados' voice rose in surprise.

"Yes. To both questions, sir." Gatalas tried to look his priest in the eyes, and, as usual, was off in his positioning. But his words were spot on, "Remember, I have a sister. Darya's all that's left of my family, now. I won't have my lack of honor destroy her chance of a future."

"Sarmatian, through and through," One of the smiths said, the lean one who had started the fire, "Crazy as they come. You know most people would find it insane you want to fight with a dragon... for the dragon's sake."

Gatalas smiled, showing feral white teeth, "Like you say sir. I'm a Sarmatian. It probably means insane in some language."

Dasados started to laugh, "Especially, the Sarmatian language."

Gatalas continued, "And you all know dragons are worthy of honor and respect. You interact more with them than I ever have. Toothless is not an animal. He's a thinking creature with his own system of honor, which is why he helped us. Don't I deserve to offer him the same honor?" Gatalas nodded his head.

The smiths all looked at each other, along with the Star Priests. They seemed to exchange some hidden message, and they all nodded.

It was downright creepy.

"Gatalas, you ask good questions. We've been noticing that over the last few years, well- heck- since you bonded with Eyeful. Yesterday, you even caught our good Healer at being literate in Broomhead reading- as, indeed, he is. As, indeed, we all are. But you kept that to yourself when asked. As you have been doing all along. You observed it and kept your thoughts to yourself rather than cause trouble.

"And you've come back from your discharge with grace and honor, not with a need for revenge. We noticed that. Then we see that you and your mare always come back whole and hale, but with a large supply of Red Death tails: six this time around- and this was a short journey. You and Skuda are the only two azatani who ride alone. It seems amazing that a blind man would be able to survive like this, but yet you do, and you do well. You and your Turkmene obviously work well together."

:_:Well, of course.:_: I thought humbly, :_:It's my winning personality.::_ I ducked some dried grass thrown back at me by Gatalas. It completely missed my head.

The smith had started to raise sausage sized fingers as he counted, "And, now, you approach us with a wrong you committed and seek a possible death to salvage the honor of a creature most Firemakers despise."

Both Gatalas and I just waited, not sure what to add to this.

"We wanted to talk to you because we need your help for a mission."

"Sirs?" Gatalas learned forward, placing his elbows on his crossed legs. His voice had a lilt of eagerness in it. And an equally strong lilt of incredulity.

Dasados continued, a smile on his face, "As you have surmised, we are not what we seem to be. True, all of us have been born as Sarmatians, but to put it lightly, we are Sarmatians but yet not Sarmatians- let's just say we have a different history from your own. We have been taught- trained if you will- in some techniques that will help our People keep this steppe land free of its invaders. Techniques that are not native to Sarmatia but which would not affect the Firemaker cultures of this Timeline era. These techniques come from... well... another origin, from a group of people whose mission it is to keep fringe tears on the timelines from damaging other Timelines.

"Who are these people?" Gatalas asked, softly. I could tell there was a prick of doubt and even "_oh, yeh, right_" going on in his mind, but he still wanted to get all the facts.

Dasados shrugged, "I can't get into that, now. Suffice it to say, there are members who are Sarmatians and Broomheads and many others who are working together for this. It was Broomhead members of this organization who chose our Dragon units to be the ones to make the Crossing to this Timeline."

:_:Wonder if there are any River Rats?:: _I thought-sent to Gatalas.

:_:I doubt it:: _ he thought back to me, ::_They're River Rats, for sweet sake! They'd raid all the other members and sell them as slaves down the River::_

"You do have some issues to work out before we think you are fully ready," one of the Star Priests said, her rich alto voice tinged with seriousness, "Keep that in mind. And we'd like to see how you accomplish this task for us, first."

One of the Forge Priests, the newest and youngest one, was leaning on the wagon close to her, and he nodded in agreement. He was extremely small and wiry, his hair hidden by a brown rag wrapped around his head, "But we have faith in you, Gatalas," he said in a clear tenor.

The male Star Priest nodded, a fine old man with a snowy mane of hair woven into many braids that hung to his hip. "One more thing swayed us. The Healer also told us of a certain little - parcel - you found on your way back to our caravan. " His light brown eyes twinkled, "For fear of totally making you go running away shrieking how crazy we are, I will keep things simple. Our organization believes in balance. Actions that happen in one end of a continuum will cause a ripple on the other end. Your Toothless' data pointed out that clearly. Dragon raids are happening far in the Northlands to the west of Europe. Now they are starting to happen here, in the eastern fringes of Europe.

"One has impacted the other." he said, his voice soft as duck down, "Toothless seems to have bonded with a Firemaker in the West, and they seem to be a key to understanding what is going on there."

"Yes," Gatalas shifted again, lifting a knee up to place his chin on it, "But Banadaspos is working on it on our end. He's brought most of our Dragon unit on that mission to use Toothless' data for locating the source of the raids.

All the priests stared sadly back, and one of them sighed. Sounds from the caravan floated over head: lowing cattle, laughing children, someone washing clothes. A girl singing a merry melody about the clothes for her funeral.

"That was exactly the wrong thing to do, and that's why we're worried." Dasados said, solemnly, "While I don't doubt Banadaspos' judgement as a Scepter Holder, he is approaching this like a Firemaker would. We don't know what's causing this, but it's for sure not going to be of this world. And it involves dragons, too boot"

"But 'Only a Dragon can defeat a dragon," Gatalas said, quoting the Sarmatian proverb, "Technically we are dragons, too- just human ones. So, a Dragon can defeat a dragon."

The alto Star priest laughed richly, tilting her veiled head back in grace, "In this case, the meaning is the literal one. Toothless is a dragon. Banadaspos- and none of the other azatani- are."

"So fill in the blanks," the lean Firestarter black smith said, a smile on his handsome, clean-shaven face, "A dragon flew west to help..."

Gatalas startled, "... and a dragon flew- or more likely was carried- east... to... help?" He rubbed a hand on his face in puzzlement, "Noooo, How can he? He's just a kitten! And he's hurt and hates Firemakers. I think it's just a coincidence."

"Possibly, " Dasados said, "But it seems a strange irony that Toothless would go to the land of River Rats, and River Rats would bring a dragon to this land. It's a strange balance, indeed. And not the dragon I would expect. But it could be of significance. He may have a purpose, and we have to keep him safe and heal him. He'll show us if he's meant to be the balance on this side."

"Oookay," Gatalas said in that tone of voice where you don't want to show disrespect but you are pretty sure your elders are wrong on this one, "Don't worry. He's with us now. We'll take care of him. But, what is it you want me to do."

Dasados smiled, "Thought you'd never ask. Simple. You ride one of the fastest- if not the fastest Turkmene in this caravan. We need you to catch up with the Banadaspos' dragon. We have some items we've developed that might help them in this outcome. And you're the only one who can get to them in time."

I pricked my ears at the thought I would get to use my speed and endurance training. If Gatalas' ears were any longer, he would have pricked them,

"We'll do it, sirs! "

He saluted in eagerness.

"And don't forget to take the little dragon with you. For balance. Or, if you don't believe in what we just told you: for luck." Dasados stood up and brushed dead grass blades from his woven riding trousers, "By the way, the most important thing you'll be bringing is a new, improved version of the Draco banner head. We've done some tinkering with it so it will be more effective."

_::Wha-ha-ha-ha?_:: Gatalas' thought voice clipped in my mind, :_:But the Draco is a symbol. It's cloth and bronze on a pole. How do you improve that? Put a bigger, prettier tail on it? Make its tongue redder?::_

I could not have agreed with him more. The main practical purpose of the Draco banner is to be a windsock for the Firemaker archers so they know where to bend their bows. Otherwise, it is mainly symbolic. Therefore, pretty much useless.

_::Either they are really trying to test us, or this is a nice way of getting rid of us. With honor.::_ Gatalas snorted.

What better way to test our honor than to send us on a useless mission that, hopefully got us killed?

::_No. We can't judge yet, Rider. If they say they have improved the Draco and it is important enough for us to deliver it to Banadaspos, then there must be truth to it. These are Sarmatians. ::_

As if he had read my mind, Dasados walked over to the forge fire, flickering merrily under the dangling sculpture of Marha. The smith stuck his braceletted hand over the fire, and other smiths and Star Priests joined him.

"This is an important task, young Gatalas, though it may seem crazy. We need your help, and we tell you the truth. We all swear it on fire."

They stuck their hands and linked them over the flame. There was a nice set of sparks that blew up as a small log broke, sending up golden lights that fountained safely beneath the priests' hands.

Dasados looked up at the statue of Marha and his Draco. He grinned and laughed, "Nice special effects, sir!"

* * *

The Forge Priests promised to visit us later with some useful things for our journey.

Gatalas was now drying out and cleaning the riding gear and his clothes. He had spread his now clean riding clothes and under garments cross the wagon rail to dry, and now he was soaping my saddle and harness, cleaning it of sweat and mud, bringing it back to its original mahogany color.

Suddenly we heard a squall of terror. The dragon kitten had awakened again and greeted us with a snarl and hiss-spit. It was though he were coming out of a nightmare. He looked down at his bed-basket and let out a tiny mewl of embarrassment. This, of course, turned into a spitting and fang showing display as he saw Gatalas and I regarding him. He then crouched further down into his fouled basket, eyes shut, waiting for a fist blow.

Gatalas sighed, but it was in pity, "Poor kid, " he whispered to me, "So young to have such nightmares. "

I knew the kitten would never listen to Gatalas, as unfortunate as that was, so I stepped in.

_::Hold:: _I told the dragon, ::_Peace. It does happen when you're getting over a bad time, and it's happened to those stronger than you. Don't be ashamed. You've been through a lot. We're not going to hurt you, kitten. But you do have to let my Firemaker pick you up and take you out if you want that basket cleaned. ::_

The kitten kept his eyes closed, breathing fast, _::He's a Firemaker . They are all Monsters. He just wants to hurt me! Well, he can hit me. You can hit me. Go on. I know you want to. I don't care.::_

I snorted softly, :_:Do you really believe that, _doostam?_ Do you really not care? I can't believe that. You are small and hurt, but I can see you are a fighter. It's good. I am a fighter, too. But why waste a good fight on someone who is actually trying to help you? Save it for your real enemies. That's half of the game right there- you have to pick your fights. I happen to think we are not your enemies. And, being female, I'll let you know I don't like to be wrong. ::_

The kitten was young, so the joke was lost on him.

_::Are you, really, not an enemy? Maybe you just want to pretend to help me and then hurt me!_ :: the kitten made a squeak of protest, followed by, :_:Oh... poofcrud! Why can't I make a halfway decent roar? Why can't I scare the Monster and the Creature?::_

I know he did not intend me to hear that- thought speech was still so new to him, so I kept my laughter to myself, _::You've been through a lot, kid. You have no reason to trust us. But if you want to get out of that basket and get cleaned up, you need to trust us. Really, it's hard to go it alone in life. In order to survive, to live to fight again another day, you have to trust someone else, eventually. Admit it. So far we've fed you, given you healing and warmth. We've been your best bet so far. You should try to trust us::_

The dragon kitten relaxed in his basket, _::Aye. For now I will. I have to, don't I? But I still hate you.::_

_::You don't have to like us,_ doostam_. You just have to work with us.::_

I translated the kitten's thoughts to Gatalas, who snorted softly, "I see a certain boy I knew a long time ago in there," he whispered to me as he reached in and gently lifted the dragon child out of the basket. The dragon lay limply, eyes shut, breathing fast. The poor little punk still was expecting to be hurt by us. He actually let out a squeak of surprise as Gatalas gently lowered him onto a free space of the blanket where my saddle was drying after its cleaning. It was a big enough patch where he could lay without touching a saddle- or a Firemaker, for that matter.

Still weak, he wobbled and fell face down on the blanket, broken leg stretched out. When he realized how comfortable and clean the blanket was- and how much space he had- surprise showed in his eyes, which were now clear of the fluid. I noticed they were an unusual color for a dragon's- or any creature's, when I think of it: a golden orange color flecked with red. It put me in mind of the tart-sweet gold-red Astrakhan apples from the Kazakh region of our Steppelands. This is where all apples originated, and they still grow wild there, their red flecked amber color a symbol of pride for the Kazakhs.

The kitten watched as Gatalas took the basket and moved away, whistling a morbid song of celebration. He knew the layout of the wagon well enough that he did not need my help to guide him around the area. My Firemaker briskly cleaned the basket with some water brought to us by one of the children whose task it was to bring water buckets to each of the wagons. He started rubbing the basket with soap. As he did so, I took a gamble and started licking the dragon kitten's face and neck and back, cleaning him as mares clean their foals.

_::I hate you:: _ the little dragon told me with matter of fact calmness, _::But that does feel... right, somehow. So.. maybe I hate you less... than I hate others. ::_

I did not reply, though his comment touched me in a sad way. It's sad to judge your life by how you hate everyone around you.

It was not worth pursuing. I just cleaned the dragon, until he lay on his side, squeaky clean and purring in content, surprised by this treatment.

_::Why is it a surprise?:: _I asked him, :_:It's the normal way of things. I have to admit, you're kind of making me look like a sissy mare, but my Turkmene People do wash each other to show our concern for each other. We just don't admit it in public. I think dragons do, too. I mean, there is a lot about you folk that shows you are like steppe wolves or wild cats. And they groom each other, too. It's a way of showing you are accepted. A small gesture, maybe, but small things can mean a lot, kitten. ::_

_::Dunno. I... just... didn't. No one has ever... cared about me that way. Well, maybe once a long time ago, but I cannot remember that so well. And, I think it would hurt me too much to remember it. It's just so strange to have someone actually do something that did not hurt me. It's strange. I want to like it, but I am not sure...::_

And I felt his anger at himself that he allowed that thought to slip out to me. He did not want to appear vulnerable to hurt in any way, and I could not blame him.

He hissed quietly, just to remind me he still could fight me, if he wanted. :_:If you hurt me, if you betray me. I will fight back.::_

_::Drama, drama.::_ I snorted, ::_I'll have you know, if you hurt me, _I _will fight back, too.:_:

_::Heh, as if I could fight:: _But I also heard a silvery bit of a dragon kitten's laughter under the thoughts.

Gatalas returned with the basket, now lined with a clean blanket and cleansing herbs. He laid it on its side, "In you go," he said, softly to the dragon

The dragon kitten saw the basket and purred some more. But he did not make a move to go into it.

:_:I want to...:: _he told me, _::But I also want to stay here. But I'm cold, too.::_

He finally snorted and muttered, :_:I am such an idiot. My muzzle is in front of my face, and I cannot see it.:: _

He crawled into the basket, but he turned around so his head stuck out of it and he could see the world in front of him, :_: I can stay here and be warm, but I can still watch things. The things are strange to me, but I like to see them::, _ He scratched his chin with his good front leg, _::They help me to remember. Remember the happier layer of memories. ::_

It was what Gatalas had intended the little kitten would do. My Rider shared a grin with me.

To my surprise, the scarred kitten looked up at both of us and held our gaze. He did not flinch or cringe from either of us. Given his recent circumstances, that took a lot of guts on his part.

Small steps forward are still steps forward.

* * *

**Some terms:**

_akinake- _A slender sword with a round, ring-shaped pommel. These were used by Sarmatians, Scythians and Parthians. The ceremonial versions were often decorated with jewels.

bale- Yes

kurta- A sleeveless kaftan type shirt that opened in the front and wrapped across the chest from right to left. It was usually made of deer leather or wool cloth. A longer shirt could be worn beneath it

Tabiti- The Sarmatian Earth Goddess


	6. Let Light Be There!

**Blindspot, Chapter 6**

**Let Light Be There!**

"_It has long been known that one horse can run faster than another — _**but which one?**_ Differences are crucial."- _R. A. Heinlein, T_he Notebooks of Lazarus Long_

* * *

_Next chapter! I've had a few people ask my why Turkmene horses are so darn smart in my story. It's not natural for horses to be so smart, but these are not ordinary horses. I hope this chapter brings out the idea that they are very unique. There are some ideas I've tossed forward, but the whole thing is not explained, yet._

_I also wanted to credit Gillian Bradshaw's excellent historical novel "Isle of Ghosts" as a great resource on Sarmatian culture. I got many ideas from here, and I hope you can read this excellent fiction book that the author based on some amazing research about these fascinating Sarmatians._

_**Note:** In this chapter you'll notice characters using English terms. Of course the characters would not be using English in this time period and region, but these words are used to help with the understanding of the scientific and technical terms concepts in this chapter  
_

_Fans of Stasheff's "Warlock" series may also see some homages in there, namely to the robotic warhorse Fess, who always was much, much, much more than he seemed to be._

**Disclaimer: ** And, as always, Toothless, Nightfuries, Hiccup and Berk belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks. I belong to me (on a temporary lease, of course).

* * *

The sun was out again, and I relaxed, taking in its soothing rays.

A muscular blond hunk moved around me, massaging my legs, rubbing my neck and shoulders, feeding me tidbits of apples and peeled grapes. Some other of his buff assistants conscientiously made sure my drink container was always full of the freshest libations.

The manly stud smoothly lifted my shapely right leg and positioned it in his hands. Gently he stroked it with a caring, well trained therapeutic motion.

Then, carefully, tenderly, he took his hammer and drove a sharp nail right into my foot.

I sighed, yawned, and took another bite of hay.

This whole horse shoeing business is such a mystery to me. But, the Forge Priests say that Turkmenes outside of the steppes have to now wear shoes. The Broomheads, even in this timeline where they have had less influence than ours, have built roads that play merry havoc with our hooves, iron hard as they are. Gatalas and I had never been long outside of the steppes, so this was the first time I had to put up with these silly iron flat foot covers nailed across the underside of each hoof.

And, to add insult to injury, they didn't even have any pretty decorations on them to show off my lovely, athletic legs. Now, isn't that a fine way to desecrate the art and craft of Sarmatian blacksmiths? I would have been very happy to have even the tiniest drawing of a shrew skull and dandelions etched into the shoes, but no. Functionality over form, for this once. Piff!

_Well,_ I thought_, they do have their reasons_. The Star Priests had projected the info from Toothless' data and sought similar patterns happening in our part of the continent. They dumped in a few cute little things called "Triangulations." The results? It seemed the danger – and Banadaspos' Dragon Unit– would somehow meet in the mountains that stretched far across the _Dānu apara_ River. The terrain in the mountains was rocky and, at this time of the year, there were other hazards like …

"… Ice," said Dasados to Gatalas, who was sitting cross legged near me, testing my saddle gear and packing away supplies for our journey into our saddle bags. One knee touched against my front left leg, giving him the sight he needed for this.

The blacksmith priest held up a well-formed iron horse shoe, "This is a new invention from Setares. It's lightweight, so Eyeful won't feel substantial drag on her when you two hot foot it for the Dragon Unit. But they also have special hooks that will let your lady prance over the ice like it is steppe grass."

He jerked a thumb towards one of the blacksmiths who was further back, poking tongs into a small, portable hod that kept the coals hot enough for bending horse shoes to fit my particular hoof shape, This was the smaller, rawboned fellow who had indicated his support for us this morning, the youth with the leather bandana tied around his head, hiding his hair.

He seemed to have a unique role among the smiths. He did not handle any of the heavier equipment, but he was the one who had come up with their latest innovations, and it was his slender hands that were vitally needed for fixing the dragon scales to our armor. He also was the one who handled the beautiful jewelry , fashioned the Draco banner heads and chased the filigree designs onto our chamfron eye bowls.

He even could make chain mail, a process that involves literally "knitting" chain links.

You need quick eyes and dancing hands for that. While we Sarmatians did not use chain mail (the dragon scales on our armor were much more effective), we turned some good coins selling it to our allies.

Setares' work is among the best on the steppes. He always "stitches" a small star shape into the hem of chain mail as his signature. After all, his name does mean "Star" in Sarmatian.

On the other side of me, I heard more hissing and snarling. Our dragon kitten was attacking his savage prey of fresh lamb meat again. The blacksmiths had come with a small pail of tender, fresh (and freshly medicated) lamb meat they dumped on the dead grass before moving over to me.

Everyone pretended to ignore the area as a long muzzle stuck of its basket and twitched, and then a gaunt, dull olive brown form slunk across the grass, steppe polecat-like, to the meat. The dragon kitten greeted it with a hiss and squeak-snarl.

_::Now, really::_ I told him, ::_It is not going to attack you. People are going to think you are really boring if you just hiss at everything you see.::_

_::Don't hit me! I'll bite!:: _aquick cringe down with eyes closed, teeth trying to shut off a whimper, but one still leaked out.

When Gatalas and I did nothing to hit him, the kitten had let out a sigh of relief and sat back up on his haunches, again, ::_ I always have to be ready. That thing in front of me could attack me. What is it? Hmmm… red-brown stuff, shiny and clean. I- it smells… good::_ The little dragon had nosed at the meat, _::No slime or mold or glowing poison there. Mmmm. Purrrr.::_

He grabbed a piece with his teeth and tossed it down his throat. If a dragon could smile like a Firemaker, he would be all teeth and joy. ::_Oh lovelylovelylovely. So that's what fresh meat tastes like. It really is _so_ much better without maggots in it!::_

Sad sigh from me. I thought about some Sarmatian kids I had sometimes observed whine when they have to eat fresh, free range, wild herb fed lamb for the third day in a row. Would they ever do that again if they had to live one day as the kitten had? One hour?

So now the kitten was eating, but he would still hiss and squeak-growl. It seemed to be some kind of instinct in him, one I think that was ingrained into him by his species. There is something feline or lupine about many dragons. I knew that both manul wildcats and steppe wolves snarl and growl/hiss when they eat. They do it mainly to warn off other predators, but also to show they are enjoying their food. Maybe it's the same for the fire breathing folk, too.

:_:Don't forget to growl at the grass while you're at it::_ I told the little dragon kitten, teasingly, _::You never know when it will try to steal your food_.::

_::Really?::_ a tiny fluting trill that tried miserably to be a growl rippled through the air_, ::But there's so much grass…! How will I guard my food? Stay away! Stay away!::_

He crouched as best as he could on three legs, his skinny hindquarters waggling back and forth comically. He then pounced on an unfortunate clump of bunchgrass, grabbing it to his chest with his good front right leg and tearing at it with his sizeable back claws, totally disemboweling it. A most amazing feat, considering grass does not have bowels.

His serpentine, segmented tail unfurled like a flag and thudded against the ground, sending up sprays of dead, rusty-gold grass blades.

I never stopped to be impressed by how long the tail was. Toothless and Her Majesty had very long tails for their size, but this kitten's tail seemed to be at least one and a half times the length of his body.

_::Yeh, kill it, kitten! Make it even deader than it already is! It's only impossible until someone actually does it! Go, boy!::_ I thought-sent with mild sarcasm.

_::You mean it's dead already? Where's the fun in that?:_ The kitten sat up and shook his head, clearing grass from his ridged, knife-tattered ear sensors.

_::Yep, your snarls and hisses probably killed it right on the spot, Beg pardon, I mean killed it all over again right on the spot..::_

_::Heh.::_ He gave a dragon snort and then sneezed, sending more grass blades from his nostrils

:_:Try thinking that word backwards, kitten::_

It took the kitten a few moments, but then I heard a hiss from behind me_, ::I suppose you think that was funny.::_

_::Actually, yes.::_

The kitten snorted and returned to eating his lamb, but now he no longer seemed to be bothered by the fact that others were watching him. The healing medicines dosed in the lamb were already making him pleasantly drowsy. They seemed to be doing their magic, though. He had jumped bounds ahead in healing, even showing improvement from this morning.

* * *

Gatalas had drifted off to sleep, lying on his back near me, gladly soaking in the weak fall sunrays.

Dasados had left to oversee the main portable forge, leaving me in the hands of his younger colleagues. The gorgeous (well, at least for an overgrown ape) blond black smith, the young one who had lit the fires this morning, gently put my hoof back down on the ground.

He started to work on the last hoof, lifting the left back hoof and bracing it between his knees. His back was to me, and I know many a horse or donkey that would have used that opportunity to plan some tooth attack or other.

I was too smart to waste my time on such shenanigans. Well, at least today I was. I had gained my wisdom the first time I had tried it as a silly filly, practicing on a blacksmith who was trimming our hooves- a regular maintenance thing Sarmatians do to their equids. I had done a sneak attack on that conveniently located butt and earned a good crack across my muzzle with a blacksmith's hand.

But I still had managed to score part of his trousers and peel a strip off the pants with my teeth. Well, hey, seldom the victory without some pain.

And, when you are an omega in a Turkmene herd, you need all the status points you can get.

Using a file, the Blond Hunkster took up a flat metal hand tool and began to rasp it across my hoof bottom, clearing the area of any overgrown hoof-horn so that a shoe could be placed across my feet. Just like the horseshoe nails, it did not hurt this part of my hooves, but the sound made me lace my ears back.

Setares stepped to my other side and started talking to the blond smith, his clear tenor voice belling distinctly over the rasping noises.

"There's a world of difference working with Turkmenes, I think," the leather-headed artisan-work smith said, "They are so amazingly understanding and patient when it comes to this process."

"I know," the blond said, moving his sturdy legs so he could stretch his arms to the other side of my foot, "I had to use a twitch on those River Rat stallions' noses to keep them still enough so I could pull off those miserable excuses of horse shoes they were wearing."

His hand skimmed across my inner hoof wall, pressing against the "frog," the triangular shaped piece of flesh raised up in the middle of the hoof.

"The mare's frog is in excellent condition- nice and springy. I bet she makes a comfortable ride for Gatalas. Long legs, smoothly connected joints, well-sprung ribs- for a Turkmene, anyway- well-cushioned hooves. She probably just floats across the grass.

And seems like both she and Rider always come back glowing. I swear, wandering the steppes like they do brings life into both of 'em. It seems some guides really are cut out for their work."

I felt Setares pat my hindquarters. I started to stiffen my tail in warning, but the young man's hands were warm and tingled with energy, and that made me stop to consider him more. With my backwards vision, I could see him meet my gaze. He was so very – to me unnaturally - scrawny and with extremely pale white skin. His pale complexion was unusual for Sarmatians, who are often well tanned and freckled from being in the sun so much.

He also seemed to have a very sparse beard, since his face was well shaven. Most of the smiths usually shaved every few days, so they always had some stubble. And some, like the Blond Hunkster, maintained short mustaches.

Though Setares had a fire-proof bandana tied over his head, his rather sparsely grown eyebrows were a dark red, and the bit of hair I could see poking from the bandana looked to be a very deep, pure, fiery red in color.

His eyes were the exact color of the center of a flame: a deep, deep blue, darkest at the center, and almost azure on the rims of his pupils. Gold flecks danced like sparks in his eyes.

If ever a man had the colorings of a blacksmith, this one certainly did.

"She is a strange color for a Turkmene," Setares said softly, "But she seems to have one of the best confirmations I've seen."

"Eyeful comes from good blood. Her sire and dam predate the Crossing, but they both were used as war horses during raids on the Broomheads. Her dam had so many Broomhead scalps on her harness that the Broomheads were said to tremble upon seeing her and her Rider approach.

"Both of them have thrown good foals. Eyeful's among the best," the blond one continued. He positioned his rasping tool in one hand and wiped sweat from his forehead with the other, "Her coloring is odd, but to be honest it's not rare among mundane horses. It just seldom shows up among Turkmenes."

"Is that why the other Turkmenes act odd around her sometimes? The color is somehow seen as inferior because it's more like mundane horses?" Setares asked, heading over to the small hod and anvil to bring the last, newly shaped, shoe over to me. Nails rattled in the pockets of his leather apron.

"No, it's deeper than that," The Blond Hunkster answered, "My Silverstreak is always telling me it has very ancient roots, when all horses were some sort of striped dun in color. It's some epic about how horses almost died out and had to go on a great journey over a big world of water on a bridge of land to escape a danger. Some influential stallion who was affected by the Lie Under the Earth deceived the Herd into taking a different path away from the bridge so they would not escape the danger and the Lie could claim their spirits. The stallion happened to be this coloring."

He wiped his face again, "They call it the red death color because the horse of that color almost meant the death of the race. He is called 'Red Death Dancer' in their horsey language. It's just coincidence that we Firemakers also call one type of Gatecrasher _Red Deaths_."

"We don't even have a word for this color in Sarmatian, it's so rare," Satares said, handing the blond smith a strange clamping/cutting like instrument and taking the rasper from him.

"Not true, young 'un," the blond said, now using this clamper to trim away the few bits of overgrown hoof-horn that had not been ground down by my trek wanderings, "You just have not heard of it, yet. We call it 'claybank' after the light red river bank clay we sometimes use for pottery."

That made me think of the little kitten who had covered himself in clay by a riverbank to die. And I felt my heart get a little heavier.

The blond hunk was continuing, "The Slavic people call the coloring 'Red dun'. And I've even heard the River Rats have oodles of horses of this coloring among their smaller riding horses. They call the color something like blay-koor. It means 'pink.' "

_Call me, slayer of Red Deaths, PINK? Oy. Another reason to love River Rats. _

Then, again, they seem to have a real problem naming things. Toothless' Firemaker is named "Hiccup," for grief's sake.

I imagine alcohol was involved in the naming process. It usually is in such situations.

And then Hiccup had named my Lightning Breather friend _Toothless_, which was about the most inappropriate name you could give a dragon with such an array of sharp pearly whites.

Ah, I do so hope Hiccup's people address their drinking problems soon.

What'll be next? An epic poem about a great hero named "Outhouse Cleaner?"

At this point I had let myself fall into a pseudo doze, and I think the Forge priests assumed I was napping.

"So, why are Turkmenes so much smarter than other horses?" Satares said quietly.

I heard his voice get briefly louder as he turned back to see if I were sleeping. Seemingly satisfied I was not listening, the two continued talking.

What followed got very complicated, and I was tempted to blow my cover so I could bend my ears back further.

I had never had thought beyond our origin to more than "Stallion" met "Mare" and "he did and she did and they did." And, lo, a foal appeared one day, singing about how lovely the morning was and where was the milk bar?

It seems there really had been some things more sophisticated than I had ever guessed that had been done during our foal hood. Up until this moment, these were things I had remembered as routine inspections of my hooves and legs and chest. A Star Priest or Forge Priest would touch my neck, and I'd feel a little prick in my neck like a fly bit me, but nothing happened other than that. But all of us little ones got these little pricks in our neck through foal hood, at least once a year. Sometimes as much as three times a year.

I do remember one time getting such a prick and then my left hind leg had swollen up, making me limp pathetically. It had been a rather sore point (no pun intended) among the other young Turkmenes. Since I already was the omega of the herd (translation: she who must be kicked. And kicked. And kicked some more), it was one reason more to pick on me. I remember being called "Left Limper" and some foals telling me the Firemakers would slit my throat for good because I was now crippled. In our world, a horse who has a damaged leg is put down. He or she just cannot survive, otherwise.

I remember two Firemakers catching me and flipping me, firmly but kindly, so that I was lying on my side. They ran concerned hands down my swollen leg. I struggled and struggled and squeaked almost as cutely as the dragon kitten.

All I could do was call to them in a way I had never been able to, before: _::I don't wanna die! Don't slit my throat!::_

Instead of slitting my throat, the Roxalani Forge Priests just stroked me gently, crooned to me to soothe me, and talked to each other about my condition. At the time there had been lots of Firemaker speech that made no sense to me, but those words now came back to me as Setares and the Blond Hunkster spoke. And I was surprised how well I remembered those words over the years!

Words like _see-rum_ and _naykative ree-akshun_ and _ant-ee-bod-ee_ and unusual blood type.

_::Don't kill me, pretty please with sugar on top? You can have all of my sugar for the rest of my days:: _I had called to out in my foal squeaks. I was very desperate by now.

Laughter, then someone saying, "What _naykative ree-akshun? _That was mind speech, folks. This little filly is showing a very good response to the _see-rum. _I have never seen one so young be able to telepath out like that. I'd say this one might even have an _advanved pawsative ree-aksun. _ But let's give her something for the swelling. I'd wager that came from one of the suspension fluids in the _see-rum_.

There was a another prick on my neck and I was let loose, struggling to my feet and stumbling off as fast as my left-limping little body could take me.

Indeed, I was better the next day, the limp now a bare memory.

And I did, indeed, become the youngest of my kind to bond with a Firemaker. I was a yearling when I did, still too young to ride, but young enough to start the war horse endurance training. I remember I had to lead Gatalas out of that canyon with him holding on to my tail.

Now, some years later, I heard more strange words as Setares and the Blond Hunkster spoke. They referred to me as being one of the more successful _pro toh type_ of the _aks spare mint_ and how we Turkmenes could provide the sort of _low_ _tex suppert_ that was permitted for the _apple-ik-eh- bull tex-nowl-oh-gee_ in this time frame. We were horses but yet carried something called _nah noh mites_ (lice-ugh!) that made us like a _Now-ledge base _for Firemakers, but one bred into a form that fit the culture of my people- a people who rely extensively on horses for their survival.

The two smiths mentioned what might be in the serum, but most of the terms were very long and complicated. They did mention part of it involved the _gin ache tick_ material from dragons. Something called _Dee Yenay_. Since I was meant to be an endurance racer for my Firemaker tribe, the _Dee Yenay_ that was in me was from a type of dragon known to Firemakers as a _naitfooree_.

They sound like fascinating dragon- creatures, these _naitfoorees._ Maybe someday I will meet one.

* * *

"Okay, Eyeful! Gatalas! You can both wake up, now!" The Blond Hunkster called out, clapping his gloved hands together, "One more gift, and we'll leave you two alone to your preparations. I know you'll ride out early tomorrow."

I opened my eyes and lifted one of my feet, inspecting the strange new covering on its base.

_Not bad. But a few coats of paint on the rest of my hooves with some festive death-blood colored dots and some wolf paws would be nice. Why do blacksmith services not include hoof painting?_

Gatalas had nodded off, too, but he awoke, yawning in contentment. When he "saw" what I now saw Setares unfurling, he whistled.

"Oh, my heart longs to explode in admiration. That is beautiful, Setares! But I thought that was the Draco for the tribe, not a gift for me!"

Setares was pulling the last leather covers off of a lightweight but brilliant Draco head, "Nah, silly. This is not your gift. Just wait a moment for that. You blonds are so spacey. Probably you even peel grapes to make wine."

He held the large Draco up over his head, balancing it on one small, long fingered hand, "This _is _the Draco you take to our Dragon Unit. Isn't he a beauty? Sometimes I amaze even myself."

"Not hard considering your usual lack of humility," The Blond Hunkster said with a laugh, clouting his colleague with fake hardness. Setares pretended to fall but then caught himself and pirouetted back around to stand by his colleague.

He then stomped on the Blond Hunkster's foot to put him in his place. All while holding the Draco over his head, completely unruffled.

I thought the Draco was a beauty, myself. I could see the frail looking smith was able to easily hold a sculpture that would have been a struggle for him to raise over his head normally. But this one was obviously light weight and strong.

Otherwise, it was the usual Sarmatae Draco in shape, though Setares had added some extra special detail to the filigreed scales and the whisker sensors, and the eyes were almost lifelike in their dragon-like beauty.

"Setares figured out a way to make the metal even lighter but not lose its integrity, "The Blond Hunkster said with pride in his voice, "So the banner man can move even faster with it."

"Yes, indeed, " Setares said, softly, lowering the head and turning it over so the bottom was up. We now could see it was mounted on a flat, light-metal base that would screw into the banner man's pole, "But the base is what's most important. We have crafted something in there that will help protect your troops."

"How?" Gatalas asked, and I "heard" him whistling a song in my mind, one about a rather cynical shepherd called_, I will Believe it When I see It.. but I will Still Die in Joy One Day. _

"Ahh, I would not want to ruin the surprise for you," Setares said, "Translation: it'd take a really long time to explain and probably put most creatures to sleep in the process. I am doing you a mercy, Gatalas."

He began to wrap the head back up again into its leather coverings, placing these into a sturdy horizontal leather saddle bag to tie behind my saddle cantle, "But we have something else for you. Courtesy of that Coughing Terrifying Catfish guy your Toothless knows."

"Wha?" Gatalas asked, "You mean Hiccup Horrendous Whatever the Heck guy."

"Indeed. Behold." The Blond Hunkster held up a pair of long leather straps that dangled in his right hand. Each strap was tied to a flat iron, vaguely boot-shaped "pedal".

Both Gatalas and I knew right away what those were for. Toothless had been explaining how the harness he and his Hiccup had been testing worked.

_::But my tail works just fine!:_ I thought in protest.

"But I steer Eyeful with my legs- I don't need to pull her tail to make her turn. She'd kick me to the moon if I tried anything like that."

_::Damn straight, sir. But you always did want to explore the moon, no?::_

Both smiths started laughing, reminding me they were still younglings themselves.

"This was INSPIRED by the idea, but it's not the same thing as Hiccup's device," the Blond Smith said, "After you shared the Dreampaths description Toothless gave you, Setares and Dasados starting thinking that pedals on saddles might work for horses, too. Not for _steering_ the horse, Gatalas, but for helping _support_ _**you **_on the horse.

"These pedals are loose danglers, see? Hiccup's are not," the blond one waved the pedals, and they swung back and forth, "They'll move with your feet on the horse and help you keep your balance. Our saddles are flat, but they still have a bit of a wooden base under them, unlike Toothless' saddle. That's why we think this will work. The saddle's tree-wood under structure will insure Gatalas stays on board, but there is no extra tension spread on Eyeful's back. The design distributes it well. C'mon, lets give it a try, eh?"

This led to the smiths helping Gatalas tack me up. They then proceeded to skillfully carve a hole into each side of my saddle so they could thread the foot pedals' leather straps through the hole.

The straps had been designed so their length could be adjusted longer or shorter as Gatalas needed it. Different holes in the straps would let him slide the pedals to the lengths they needed, then he would buckle the straps closed. The pedals were, to me, very similar to Hiccup's pedal design: a platform shape that held in the front of Gatalas' boots, but there was no guard for the heel; the heel and the toes were allowed to hang free off the platform. Hiccup's pedals held the whole base of his feet.

"Letting your heels stay free will help with your balance and help you kick your foot free if something happens and you need to get off fast, "Satares shouted to us as I trotted past him, my Rider trying to adjust to this strange feeling of not having to rely only on gripping his upper legs to keep me on board.

"This is very… interesting," he said, trying to relax more.

:_:Come on, Ape Face, sink into the saddle and keep your heels pointed to the ground. Let them take more weight.::_

Gatalas did so and then started laughing, "I do think this is very convenient! I feel better balanced on Eyeful's back! You'll have to work harder to buck me off next time, sweet mare of mine."

I snorted joyfully _::I relish the challenge, sir.::_

I ,also, was getting used to the new shoes. I had dreaded they would make me slip, but they were comfortable and moved with my feet quite well. I found it quite amusing both my Rider and I were experiencing new things created for us to help with our legs and feet- both inventions by our Forge Priests.

* * *

The Forge Priests wound up having dinner with Gatalas outside his wagon this evening, the two young smiths grilling herb coated lamb and root vegetables with Gatalas, washing it all down with spring water and fermented mare's milk.

I sniffed in amusement at the mare's milk concept, but still the priests fed me well, too. Tomorrow I would start a journey, so they stuffed me with all sorts of treats as a sort of sweet farewell: power feed, dates, even fresh apples brought from Nowheresville.

And we all enjoyed honey cake and the lovely honey candy that our Firemakers enjoy so much. It has a secret ingredient that has a real kick to it. I won't tell you just what it is. Yet.

The Forge Priests outlined the route again for Gatalas and I, and they mentioned one of them would be coming with us for the first part of the trip to get us oriented into the right direction and over the portal we believed would be in the area, based on extrapolations from Toothless' data.

As the moon began to rise in the new night, a loud shrieking snarl cut across the air.

"Nightmares, again!" Gatalas spun around at the sound, "I hope the basket is…"

"Ahhh, Gatalas, " Setares joked, "You're a daddy already… at your age." But then his words became more serious, "But it's good you're bringing the dragon with you."

Said dragon suddenly _whumped _past our campfire. _Whumping_ is the only way I could describe his motion. It was a two part maneuver. First, he was trying to run on three legs. That part was terribly clumsy. At the same time his back and tail silkily arched up and down, like a snake, but done vertically, as though his body was ululating through the air. That part was incredibly graceful. The sound the two actions made was quite curious.

Grace + clumsiness= whumpf.

I believe I had just invented my first equine equation.

The dragon kitten was trying now to savage apart a battered gold chain, the noise coming from his throat an imposing thrum of terror and threat to inspire all beings' hearts to stop from its sheer awesomeness.

At least that was probably his intent.

It just happened to come out as a bubbling chirp.

Still, no one would ever belittle the sheer anger that was in the kitten's golden-orange eyes. He may have been a child, but the rage in the eyes and in the flash of his fangs was murderous.

_::Djöfulsins helvítis andskott! Helvítis! Helvítis!_::

I realized from our recent battle with them, that the kitten was swearing like a River Rat. Probably the only curse words he had ever learned were from River Rats! He obviously did not know the meaning, only that these sounds meant anger. That was not at all typical for thought speech, where you usually hear the meanings, not the words.

_::__Die! Die! Die! Choke the way you choked me!:: _the kitten shrieked.

Somehow the candle chain the River Rats had tied around the kitten´s neck had fallen out of our saddle packs during our recent unpacking. Guess who had found it?

He now had the chain in his mouth and was pulling downwards, tearing at it with his fangs. We all watched, stunned. Gatalas started to get up, reaching out a hand for my neck to balance him, but the Blond Hunkster pushed him back down,

"He needs to do this, _doostam_," the blond smith said, "There's a lot of anger in that tiny body."

So we all watched as the tiny one swore and spat and hissed and, one time, sent out a surprisingly loud caterwauler that was echoed by a dozen surprised Turkmene snorts, dog barks and cat yowls.

It was not pretty to watch, especially as the chain was so much stronger than the little dragon's fever and abuse weakened body. His frustration began to mount more and more until finally he squealed in rage and tossed the chain down.

It had defeated him, just like always.

"All right. Now you can help him," the blond Smith said.

Gatalas jerked with his head and fed me an image of what he wanted, "I still am not welcome there, lady."

_:: You should be, Gatalas. I wish he would see that.::_ I told my Rider regretfully.

I trotted over to the huddled dragon kitten and deliberately smashed my hoof on the chain, bending the links under my stronger weight.

He looked up at me, blood starting to run from where the chain had cut into his jaws. Tears were brimming in the corners of his eyes, but he was trying hard to hold them back.

_::You just need to anchor it. That's all. Have at it, kid.::_

And the dragon kitten needed no second invitation. He again started to pull at the chain while I ground down on it with my hooves. It took a few tries from both him and me, but eventually the chain snapped. And snapped again. And again,

I heard a grunt from the smiths and noticed with my backwards vision they were covering each others' eyes, teasing each other that this was too sensitive of viewing material.

This was obviously not an easy thing to see when your life lies in creating such objects, but I sensed they totally understood what was on the dragon's mind.

That chain had become the stand-in for the River Rats.

Soon a disembowled chain lay in broken coils in several piles around the dragon.

The plaque with the Broomhead inscription had been trampled by me under the dragon´s direction until it was warped and broken,

Only one piece of it remained, and no matter how I tried to stomp it, that piece remained battered, but intact. It was the part of the '_Lux denique longe alia est solis et lychnorum'_. Inscription, but this torn-off part that now only read 'Lux.'

_::Sorry, kiddo. This part cannot be destroyed. You'll have to let __it be.::_

The dragon child was panting now, his eyes emotionless, ::_The Monsters tied that chain around my neck and made me choke:: _he told me, staring ahead,_ :: They would pull on the cord with a longer cord they held, sometimes even hang me from the pole of their big _up-and-down-going-thing-that-smelled-like-water_. They liked to see the way I struggled to breathe. Oh, how horrible it was! I wiggled and kicked, and I could feel the air around me, but I could not breathe it. I think they made funny comments that I was dancing, because sometimes they would play instruments- hide beating things and wind whistling things- while I was rolling around, strangling to death. And they sang to my misery. Then they would release me just before I died. When I tried to get up and escape, they did it some more until the mind-darkness came. And I was so grateful because then I could not feel what they did. _

_:: That is why I love the dark. Light only brings pain.::_

As he thoughtsent, he stared into the fire, ::_Yes, I know_ _that fire seems beautiful, how it dances. It makes the dark even prettier.:: _Then he growled, _::But fire is for burning me. For hurting me! It may be warm, yet is still light and light only hurts!::_

I let him talk, realizing he needed to do this

_:: One time the Monsters tied me to a longer chain and tied that to a big, roundish wooden thing that contained the brown, foamy water they liked to drink. They liked that water becaues it made them even meaner and madder than they already were.::_ He hissed_, ::As if it were possible!::_

His head drooped, _::They were going to teach me how to fly. So they perched me on top of the wooden brown-water-holder. And then they threw things at me. They usually used these things to play a game where they hit a wooden board with circles painted on it. The things they threw were sharp with feathers on them, like mean birds. And the Monsters threw them with their hands into the furly things that coume out of my shoulders. The teeth of the things they threw would stick in there and I would scream in pain. I´d jump in the air to escape, but the chain kept me in place, so I could do nothing but fall back onto the brown-water-holder. And they'd throw more things at me until I was covered in my own blood._

The little dragon began to point his muzzle at various scars pockmarking his murky, collapsed wings. _::That´s where I got that. And that. And that. Andthatandthatandthatandthat.::_

I thought sent, _:: Monsters::_ I could not keep the anger from my voice.

The kitten shook his tattered ears, _:: I also got some here. And here.::_

He hesitated, some new memory dancing behind his eyes. Suddenly he twisted around and tried to hobble-run back to his basket. His long tail got in the way, and he fell to the ground, now trembling.

_::Go away. Leave. Me. Alone. NOW!::_

Plumes of breath streamed out of his slender muzzle with its almost fur-like jaw sensors. He began to tremble even harder, now with cold as much fear.

I looked behind me. The two smiths had left, and Gatalas was now clumping up the wagon steps. He stood at the rail, orienting on us by the dragon's squeak, his breath now pluming in the cold.

It was just the kitten and I. I believe the Firemakers intended that.

I sighed. The kitten was cold. I knew that. It's ironic to think of a fire beast like a dragon as being cold, but he was under grown, and there was no insulating layer of fat over his skeletal form. He needed to get warm. And fast.

He knew it, too. But, if I could pick up the feelings emanating from his thoughts- the ones he could not yet control – he did not feel welcome here. He was afraid to warm himself by the fire because we would hurt him if he approached us.

I made myself appear as nonchalant as possible.

_::The basket is cold, now, kitten. The fire is warm. I know you see fire as evil, but freezing to death is, too. You've escaped those Monsters, and that took a lot of courage on your part. Don't throw it all away, now, when it is so easy to get warm..::_

_::Go away!:: _a snarl, that turned into a sneeze.

I yawned and shrugged, ::_Temper tantrums never impressed me, especially when they're against people who are trying to help you_.::

::_I don't care what you think. Just leave me alone. Naooow!::_ the dragon kitten hissed again.

I snorted softly, _::You're absolutely right. I think I will leave you alone. I don't like being around whiners. Pity. I had taken you for someone very brave and determined, someone to admire. I guess I was mistaken. Well, good night. Enjoy feeling sorry for yourself. Fire's here if you change your mind.::_

I walked to the fire and planted myself in front of it, enjoying its lovely warmth and the smell of peat and wood.

I sighed. I did not like to use those kind of words around a child, but I also knew trying to reason with him in this mood was not going to help. He had gone into a tantrum, and though he had a good reason to be angry with the world, he was keeping himself from healing with that attitude. And he needed to get warm. So, in this case, harsh words were hopefully a good way to snap the kitten out of a negative feedback loop.

I let myself kneel down by the fire, and I did not have to pretend my tiredness.

I had almost drifted off to sleep when I felt a head bunting on my knees. I lifted my head to see the dragon kitten had limped over to fire and stood by my left side, where I had folded my legs.

_::Yes?::_ I asked him.

The kitten stared back at me, the fire catching the warm red glints in his orange eyes. He was shivering with the cold.

_::You invited me…and I'm c-c-cold. So, I'm here. But only because I w-w-want to get warm. You'd better not hurt me. But if you do… I will bite you and bite you and make you hurt plenty bad. I may die, but I WILL make you hurt. But, I will take the chance. You are the… least cruel … thing I have met- besides the black dragon::_

Those words were hard for him to think, and I was deeply touched. So I forgot I was the Bitchy One and nudged him closer to me, letting my body be the shelter between the fire and him. He curled himself up by my left side, nestling in among my legs and laying with his head and side against my warm side and abdomen.

_::Of course, kiddo. I know fire can hurt, but this fire was made by Firemakers who have taken good care of me. So, I know they would care for you, too.::_

_::How do you know?:: _the dragon hissed and spat at me, _::Monsters only hurt! And Firemakers are Monsters.::_

I gestured with my muzzle to my feet, _::Look at my feet, mate. They are flat and round. There is not much I can do with them but run. You seem like you're pretty smart, so you know someone besides me fed you. Bandaged you. Healed your leg. Took away your fever-burn sickness. Those people were Firemakers, too, but they were Firemakers who wanted to help you.::_

_::So they could eat or kill me!_:: The kitten's thought voice was lost in a pop of wood in the fire that sprayed up sparks.

_::Naah. My Firemakers have plenty of sheep and goats and chickens. You'd be way too much work to eat. And, no offense, but really not worth the effort since you're so thin. My Firemakers wanted to help you, dragon. Those Monsters are enemies of my Firemakers. Those Monsters have hurt us and friends of ours. My Firemakers admire your kind. You dragons are a symbol of something special_ _to us. When we see one who has been hurt, it is important to us to help that dragon. _

_::And, remember the black dragon you met last night? He was hurt by a Firemaker, but that Firemaker knew he did wrong and helped heal him. He showed he was a noble Firemaker in his heart, one with a good life spark. So the black dragon and the Firemaker have seen beyond their differences to become true friends. Let's say there are bad Monsters and good Monsters. I swear on fire, dragon. It was a good Monster saved your life, friend. ::_

The little dragon looked up at me, stunned.

:_:Still seems crazy to me_,:: he finally asked, _::As you say kindly pointed out, I am not even a good mouthful.::_

I shrugged, taking a jump into the deep, _::Why not? The Firemaker who helped me save you was my Firemaker. My Rider. Like me, he saw there was a spark of light- a spark of fire - in you worth saving. That's what is special to us about dragons. They symbolize the cleansing quality of fire- and that each of us has a spark of fire – of light- within us. It's a gift of power we can use to create… or to destroy. My Rider and I helped you because you deserved that chance to have the spark grow in you.::_

The dragon leaned back from me in revulsion, _::A spark of fire in me worth saving? No! :: _He growled and hissed in his sadly cute way,_ :: I am dirty! I am sure of it! I must have done something wrong so the Monsters took me and hurt me! They are punishing me for something evil I did. I have no spark worth saving! I am nothing! Nothing! Nothing::_

I could hear his self hatred bang against my skull.

And I could feel Gatalas now behind me. His amazing ability to orient himself had helped him stumble over to the other side of me. _::It's cold in the wagons without my unit. I need to sit by the fire longer. But my foot hit against this as I walked here, so I picked it up, Horsebutt. I think it is from the chain plaque::_ He held the broken _Lux _plaque fragment up.

Both Gatalas and I realized we no longer heard a draconic thought voice. We now heard only the quiet, angry breathing of a child holding back his tears, managing to do so, but it was hard..

_::Funny, kitten, how sometimes it takes others to see something you might not see. Both my Rider and I saw your life spark right away when we saw how you fought against your pain to fly away from the River Rats. We saw from your scars how you have bravely clung on through your suffering, fighting to stay alive. Your spark is very strong. _

I flared my nostrils and watched the fire send up more sparks, ::_ My Rider is actually holding that piece of the plaque that did not bend. I think that is because it is the only good part of the necklace. And you made it good. ::_

_::Good job, Horsebutt.::_ Gatalas thought to me , ::_And it's true, I think. This piece, I bet, rested on his chest and heart. Translate for me? ::_ He switched to speaking, now, "I think that little piece of necklace could not be destroyed because it was the one part of the evil necklace that was closest to your brave heart, so it was touched by your strength. The necklace had words on it that meant, 'The sun shines with a light greater than this candle's.' The sun can be the light in the sky, But- ah- uh- I'm grasping at straws here, Horsebutt, so help me! Uh…. i-it also can mean your… your life spark! The sun inside of you. It shines brighter than any other light. Your life- spark. Your Light. Your Lux."

The kitten was too tired to fight. He listened to the hated Firemaker babble, but when I translated Gatalas' words, he trembled again, ::_Go on.::_

"Yes," Gatalas said after I translated the kitten's words, "We Sarmatians take meaning in symbols. So that's why my Horsebutt and I think the 'Lux' part of the plaque did not let you destroy it. It was showing the good spark inside of you. You still have a spark of greatness in with you. You can let it die out, dragon. But, I think Horsebutt and I would be awfully sad if you did."

I translated. The little dragon shuddered a bit, then buried his face into my chest lined with all various battle scars. . There was silence, only trembling, but then I heard a tiny thrumming croon emanating as his body shook, a very quiet thrumming.

He had years worth of anger, and only now was he letting it out. It was not crying. It was something much deeper. Years of suppressed shock and anger were coming out, now manifesting as healing shudders, shedding off the negative feelings.

_::Poor kid, I would wager, blaming himself for all that happened::_ Gatalas thought to me.

_::And you would be right.::_ I replied. _::Thanks for your words, Rider. They were the right things to share.::_

_::Thank you,::_ My Rider wrapped his sleep blanket around his night clothed form and curled against me on the other side of the kitten. I was glad for his- and the kitten's- warmth. And the warmth of the fire. _::I often wish, in the days after IT happened, someone had told me those things.::_

The kitten trembled in shock for a long while, and I comforted him as best as I could. . My Rider reached out to place a comforting hand on the back, where the tattered wings met, but he pulled his hand away in hesitation. Instead, he placed a hand on my muzzle, willing his concern to flow through me to the battered kitten.

_::So Lux is light. And yet it is a spark of life.:: _The kitten finally said, his thought voice settling back into its childlike version of calmness._ ::Then, that is all I have left of me. And I am lucky I have it. A tiny life spark. A lux. And that is how you know me?. How you've been calling me when you talk of me?::_

_::No,::_ I said, ::_We don't call you that, but we do think of you that way. Among our people, names are important. We would not give you a name you did not want. And we don't know your true name_. ::

He looked at me, and also took in Gatalas. _:: I don't remember my name… or if I ever had one. But, if you think of me as a lux, then I can put up with being called that name. I have to be called something, anyway. So, I will be Lux. Maybe I will earn a better name later. But, for now, I am a spark. And that's more than I ever hoped I would be.::_

His tail lashed a bit softly, as he considered this new name, _::And, do you have a name? And does the Monster have one?::_

Gatalas snorted a bit and smiled, sadly. It would be a long time… if ever, that our dragon kitten would accept Gatalas.

I bowed my neck_, ::I greet you, Lux. I am Eyeful. The Firemaker with me is my Rider. When you are ready, he would share his name with you. He is a very good being. For now: Eat, sleep, rest. Let your spark grow as you find your destiny.:: _

That last is a quote from our people, but I diplomatically left off the part about the worms nipping on one's toes in the tombs.

"We still have one more thing to work out with him," Gatalas said to me, totally unphased to be speaking aloud to a "non speaking" horse. His long periods of solitude had made him lose his self consciousness about seeming to speak to empty air.

_::Dragon… Lux. Gatalas and I need to let you know we are going on a journey, starting tomorrow. We are riding into the mountains across the River on the Far Side. We are looking for dragons and trying to solve a problem involving them.::_

Lux looked back at me, eyes steady, now, _:: I am listening.::_

_::My Rider's Healer- the one who fixed your leg and took away your fever- he wanted you to come with us. You are healing well, and we have a special saddle basket that would help you stay comfortable during the ride. The Healer knows that it is not easy for you to be around so many Fire- I mean.. Monsters. But he wants to make sure you are being treated and healed until you are ready to go on your own. We also want you with us, too. We may encounter dragons who could help you find out more about who your tribe is. But the journey will be very dangerous. I must warn you of that. I am sure there are kind Monsters who would take care of you if you wanted to stay behind.::_

The kitten barked, surprisingly puppy like_, ::Kind Monsters? Hel, no! I want to stay with you… for now. I believe you won't hit me, but I will hurt you if you do. I don't know about the others.::_ He scratched at a sudden itch on his chin with his good front leg, _::I know there is danger, but you have to admit I've been in far worse danger to my life with those former Monsters. I will come. I don't have much of a choice, and this is the best one available, it seems. The fewer Monsters the better. And, if we meet dragons who can help… that is all for the best.::_

Lux yawned and drifted off to sleep after a while. Gatalas and I continued staring at the fire. We were both touched by this new being who had stumbled into our lives.

:_:Your words were wise, Rider,::_ I told him, _::He fears light, yet you have shown him another way to view it. And he made that way his own name.::_

"Thanks, Horsebutt," Gatalas sighed, "He's making us both look an awful lot like pansies. I might have to take up knitting soon, if you lend me your eyes."

He stretched, "But I saw the way Lux took on that chain and the anger in him. He will grow up to have a lot of strength, I think. He'll be a dragon who will get a lot of respect."

_::But it's good you and I are teaching him some compassion, too. That anger could be dangerous if he uses his strength only for vengeance. There's a warm heart under that anger. He should be a protector, not an invader.::_

"Then he have to do our best to give him that choice. Eh, any more cutesy feeling stuff and I'll have to change my name to Hiccup," Gatalas laid some more old wood on the fire, "Good thing that's that the Sarmatian word for 'Hiccup' is 'Gatalas," isn't it?"

I snorted, _::Go on. That's stupid, now. You know that!::_

Gatalas chuckled, "I know. It's not true. I am just joking with you now."

_::Go to sleep, Rider. You are getting even sillier than you already are.::_

_

* * *

_The next morning I asked Lux, once again, if he wished to stay. The dragon kitten, once again, insisted on coming with us.

So now we stood on the outskirts of camp, Gatalas waiting by my side. I was freshly brushed and tacked up in my saddle, breastplate, breeching and neck harness. Our supplies were packed on me, but they were carefully limited to items that could pack down easily and were light to carry, and items vital for dealing with the approaching winter weather. Speed and endurance was the point of this trip, so we could not carry as much as we did on our guiding expeditions. For example, I had no hay with me, this time, only Power Feed pellets.

And Gatalas had dried meat and barley for himself and Lux, but he was planning to rely a lot on bringing in fresh meat with his bow to feed himself and the dragon kitten. At this time of the year, game meat was plentiful.

The one luxury we were allowed was the basket secured to the right hand side of my saddle. The smiths had altered the basket so that it, too, held some supplies strapped to it. But the inside of the basket was warmly lined with blankets and furs, the space solely reserved for Lux.

The dragon kitten now was poking his head from the basket, right front leg hooked over the rim, taking in the view of the golden plain

_::I'm high up in the air now, Eyeful.::_ he told me, a chirp of pleased surprise escaping his muzzle, _:: You are pretty tall.::_

_::Heh,::_ I snorted. I am tall for a Turkmene, though we aren't the tallest horses out there.

_::Try saying that backwards. Whoops! Watch that_!:: Lux scrabbled to keep his balance from my heavy that-was-not-funny stomp with my right back leg.

The wind blew back on us, sending the Red Death Ribbon-streamers (including the new one Gatalas had recently sliced for me) whipping back from my harness. The cute little leather and wood horned skull decorations that dangle from my breast plate clanked against each other with a musical sound.

The new boot pedals, twisted in the wind too, making metal clanking noses when they struck against each other under my belly.

"Those things sure stir up a sound," Gatalas said, cocking his head at them, "I hope they aren't that noisy when I get on board." He stroked my neck and laughed, "Stir-ups. I like that. Kind of a funny way to think of them."

Gatales was dressed back in his camouflaging Steppe clothes, the brown leather short-sleeved kurta and gray winter-weight under-tunic. His dark brown, knee length, long sleeved riding coat topped this gear, along with gloves, a scarf and the traditional peaked, light brown woolen Sarmatian hat with its distinctive, warming earflaps. The braided and beaded ties of the cap were loose, and they floated out on the wind, making it look as if Gatalas was wearing beaded side braids. In actuality, his hair was all pulled back in its typical warrior's plait hanging down his back.

We heard hoof beats and a dog bark coming from our left, and soon I was joined by another Turkmene, a black gelding with a blue metallic sheen to his coat. A sight hound trotted at his heels.

I noticed that the black gelding's saddle also bore the same "stir-up" pedals as I had. Of course Setares would want to experiment with them on his own horse!

"One day closer to death. Rejoice with me!" Setares said from the dark Turkmene's back.

"That shall I do, friend," Gatalas said in the traditional reply, "As I hope you celebrate my impending death."

He held up a questing hand, and Setares rode his gelding up to clasp Gatales' hand in the traditional greeting.

"Then, shall we start?" Setares said, "Sunlight gets shorter each day, and we have a ways to go to overtake Banadaspos."

Gatalas nodded and tightened my girths, I helping by pulling in my breath, "So, you are the one elected, Setares, to come with me for the first part? But aren't you a little-uh- valuable to be riding into danger like this?" He gasped those last words, as he was pulling my girths tight at the same time.

Setares laughed, "I'm a Sarmatian. I'd be crazy not to jump at the chance for death and destruction. Naah. Actually, this is about speed and endurance. I am the smallest and lightest of us smiths. We needed to have someone accompany you who would not hold you back. Ravenwing's fast, and I'm light."

The dog yipped, ears pricked high, plumed tail waving in the air.

"And my hound Kourosh has kept up with both of us on many a hunting expedition. He's won all the endurance dog races I've entered. And he'll pull weight to find us meat and fish for the journey," Setares leaned down from his horse and let the sight hound nuzzle his gloved hand, "Besides, Khory wouldn't miss this for anything in the world. He loves a good journey."

I had a feeling Setares was not only referring to his sight hound with that last sentences.

I flicked my ears at Ravenwing. I did not know the gelding well, other than that he was a priest's horse. _::Better be prepared to keep up, sir. I like to move fast and leave some smoke in my tracks.::_

_::Bring it on::_ he answered back, flicking his ears the same way, _::Hope you can keep up with _me_, ma'am.::_

I decided this could be a lot of fun.

Gatalas placed a foot in one of the "stir-up" pedals and swung onto me. I shifted myself to take his welcome weight on my back. We were a team again!

Lux chirped in caution, getting used to having a Monster seated so close to where he was. He fastened back his tattered ears as Gatalas held a hand towards him, as he would to a nervous horse, inviting the dragon to sniff the hand and see the Sarmatian meant to harm.

Lux instead hissed at Gatalas and ducked back into his basket.

Gatalas sighed and pat me instead.

I encouraged him, _::You 're doing beautifully, Rider. Take heart in that.::_

My Rider pat me harder, "You're the best, Horsebutt."

"Let us go and meet our doom!" Setares nudged his gelding into a trot, and I felt Gatalas nudge me as well.

I slid into the long legged ambling trot of my breed, catching up to Setares' horse. From my back I could already feel how Gatalas seemed to sit even more comfortably on me- his weight on my back felt even lighter, better distributed. The "stir-up" pedals were already showing their worth!

Just by the side of the blue-black Turkmene, Kourosh paced us. I have little tolerance for dogs who lose concentration, drop out, and make a riding party have to halt the trip to search for them. But Kouroush was matching we horses! He was not running- far from it. Instead, he was pacing as fast as I was trotting. This dog might be a good companion, indeed!

Children ran by us, calling out farewells to us, wishing us a good journey and happy death. A few held wooden dragons that they made swoop and dive around us Turkmenes.

Setares and Gatalas waved back to the kids, wishing them a long life and happy death in return.

More Firemakers called to us as we rode past their wagons. The priests all were having herbal tea by the fires and shouted blessings and "Keep yourselves warm!" when we trotted by.

And then the wagons were behind us. My backwards vision saw them turn from wagons into children's toys and then, finally, ant hills on the horizon.

Though I love journeying, I always feel a sense of sadness at leaving my home caravan. I think it's like a knot untying- something necessary you have to do in order to start a journey. But even if the knot unties, there still always is a tiny thread that keeps Gatalas and I connected to our people.

I knew, too, this needed to be the last journey before winter set in. Gatalas and I always wintered with the caravan in its warmer winter shelter. Neither merchants nor dragons traveled the steppes in the winter. Strangely enough, the Red Deaths and other gate crashers also did not come over in the winter months. I guess the much colder climate of our time compared to theirs would have killed them right away. So, they saved their fun and games for spring, summer and fall raids.

Setares moved his feet, adjusting to the new pedals. Finally he turned back to us and raised his hand in a fist and then splayed it open, the Sarmatian sign for "Pull it all out!"

_::Thought you'd never ask!::_ I nickered joyfully, ::_Lux, hang on. You'll like this!::_

"Yes," Gatalas whispered in joy, settling himself and leaning forward.

He nudged me gently, and I sprang forward in to a gallop, right as Ravenwing did.

Gatalas and Setares whooped and we two horses became the wind incarnate. We raced side by side in the steady, mile-eating gallop that enables Sarmatians to conquer the steppes, a red-gold and blue-black blur.

No, we were not going like race horses- and I admit we don't run as fast as the racing Arabians of the Nej desert, but our speed is in our endurance. We can go fast for very long periods of time, long after a Nej racehorse would drop out from tiredness.

The wind blew back my forelock and lifted the mane from my neck. My winter coat fur, coming in nice and thick, rippled in the wind as well.

By our side ran Kourosh, a fawn and cream blur, the silky "feathers" on his legs and tail wafting behind him. His tongue lolled out, and his face split in a doggy grin. This was easy for him.

Our hooves thundered on the grass and we galloped down slopes and back up again, riding the swells of the grass plains.

The sun cast ribbons through the clouds of this fall morning, streamers of light floating down to the earth.

I heard claws on wicker, and Lux stuck his head out of the his basket again. My vision range was able to show him perfectly, and the joy he felt as the wind of our passage blew back his ear sensors.

_::We're flying! And without wings! Yesssssss!::_ He stuck out his tongue, which was also blown back from the wind. He just closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

_::Told ya you'd like it, kid.::_

And on we ran, wind singing along our sides.

We did slow down from time to time, sometimes walking, sometimes jog-trotting, sometimes just halting by water to get a good drink. But the galloping was a big part of our journey, too.

We knew there would be little time for running in the mountains, so we needed to gallop on the steppes to gain time against the slower periods coming up.

A skreeeing sound cut across the plains, suddenly. I heard Kourosh give a warning bark and then a snarl.

_::Enemy ahead::_ I warned Gatalas, _::Lux, brace yourself.::_

I dug my hooves into the ground, bringing myself to a halt.

Lux's claws dug into his basket as he halted his actions, too. He did not hide but stared back at the enemy, nostrils flaring.

_::Wha-what is it?::_

_::Stay quiet, make yourself as small as possible!::_

_::On it!::_

Ravenwing and his rider came up by me, the Turkmene shaking his mane in eagerness.

The dead grass boiled in front of us as something a sickly gray-white in color swept up from it. This was a long, straight, thin creature with ugly segments and an overall wormlike appearance.

The segments ended in a bloated head with cloudy eyes and three openings, one on each side and one on top), each filled with hooklike bristles.

Gatalas could "see" the creature with my eyes and whistled quietly, "Slithereen."

The slithereen was just as blind as Gatalas, but the bristles on its orifices, rippled, pulling in senses. It shifted its headed and began to slither towards us, dead grass rippling over its hide with a soft brushing sound.

I heard the soft snaps as Gatalas slipped open his gorytus, then pulled out the semicircular unstrung bow. His deft hands, eyes in the fingers, strung the bow as I began to side step back from the creature, staying out of striking distance.

A strum, a thrum, a quick gasp, and then the recurve bow had sprung to life again.

And no time too soon as, suddenly, the bulbous head shot out, aiming right for where Ravenwing just had been. The black Turkmene had scattered in one direction, and Kourosh in the other.

Suddenly the gray wormlike alien gatecrasher shot its sinuous body, and then the black Turkmene took a tumble, knocked off his balance by the beast's gray-white body rising, hidden, from the grass.

There was a thud and "Oof!" as Sateres was knocked off his Partner's back.

"So much for the stirring up pedals." Gatalas muttered.

Sateres rolled onto his feet just as a bulbous white head twice his height launched toward him, something sickeningly yellow starting to drip from its three orifices. The youth raised a hand in a pathetic defense.

_::oooooh::_ Lux breathed, fear tinting his thoughts, but I could feel his body staying still, keeping himself difficult to spot.

_::So what'll it be this time, Rider?::_ I asked, pacing in a ring around the slithereen. The black Turkmene made a ring on the other side, trying to figure out to reach his Rider, _:: The Scythion or the Knot?::_

"Start with the Knot." Gatales said calmly, positioning his bow, "Keep in dialogue with Ravenwing. See if he can help. Hopefully that dog will have some sense about this and stay out of the way."

_::On it, Rider.::_ I thought-sent, _::Stay low, Lux.::_

The slithereen slashed at Satares, who leapt back, but his ankle caught on a hummock and brought him flat on his back in a nice dinner presentation.

He stared back at the Slithereen, fear dancing in his blue eyes, but a snarl on his teeth.

Gatalas touched his legs to my side, "Let the games begin!"

And the games began- though things were slightly in the Slithereen's favor.

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**A/N:** - So, Hiccup can claim credit for one of the great inventions of the world in this timeline! The saddle stirrup is considered one of civilization's greatest inventions, yet we don't know when they actually were invented. General ideas are that it was invented in Central Asia around the 4th century AD, so those images of Classical Roman and Greeks using stirrups are not true. There is even evidence stirrups predated this, back into the BCE era in Asia. I got my ideas from a Kushan Indo Empire seal design that oddly follows Hiccup's pedal design on Toothless' harness.

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	7. Blowups do sort of happen maybe?

**Chapter 7: Blowups Do Sort of Happen**

**A/N:** Busy time for me! In the tourism industry, this is crunch time! I was slow to update, and I hate it. But I have to deal with it that it's THAT time of the year in the tourism industry with the consumer travel shows in the US, Canada and Iceland, and people making their summer travel plans as well as those people planning to use leftover vacation days in the winter...

Anyway, here is the next chapter!

I should explain, this one opens up a lot of Heinlein's "World of Myth" theory. You will see this pop up in my upcoming Hiccup and Toothless fanfics. Just to ease you into the insanity that is Heinlein... he liked to play with an idea that the things we consider as myths (like dragons, fairy tales... and even some things we think are popular culture) are actually real, biological and truly exist as legitimate life forms on other timelines. Just, when timelines overlap, creatures from other realities slip into our own, and we see them as magical when they are just the ordinary boring way of life in their own worlds. Makes you wonder how they view us humans when they see us from their point of view?

Per Heinlein's view, you'll see one of this fan fic's main characters use the Dreampaths to discover some of those World as Myth worlds that have influenced our current popular culture references. I've shown two of those references- one Western and one Eastern- in this chapter and would love to hear if you picked up what they are. Heinlein loved teasing people with this idea that our myths could be another planet's normal culture. I hope you like it, too. It's all in fun.

Also, I threw in some more encounters with canon HTTYD characters. Hope you can pick up on who those two characters are are.. and why I love them.

And, I admit, there is a tiny, respectful- but heartfelt - rant of mine about fanfiction views of Hiccup and Dragon!Toothless slash in there, but I disguised it a bit in some metaphors in this story. Please understand that I applaud there being freedom of expression of various HTTYD relationships in fanfic. I would not want it any other way. But I admit I am not a fan of the idea that Hiccup and Toothless are lovers, whether as humans or as human X dragon. To me they are bros all the way!

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**Chapter 7: Blowups Do Sort of Happen**

" An invention is something that was "impossible" up to then—that's why governments grant patents." R.A. Heinlein, _The Door Into Summer. _

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own the characters. I just don't have enough Dragonchow (Tm) (C) and Viking chow (Tm) (C) to be able to claim this ownership.

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"Lie flat, Setares! Stay still! We're on it!" Gatalas called, his voice strong and brave and competent. We were riding into danger, but we could take this one. We knew it.

Yes, it was in favor for the slithereen, but Gatalas and I had shifted into our battle mode with our automatic teamwork. We had taken on slithereens before, we knew what to do, and our bodies shifted into their positions.

Fear always was a part of our attacks, for fear helps keep a body alive. But years of fighting had also made us almost casual observers of our own actions.

The Knot was a usual way of dealing with these blind and dull-witted monsters. Gatalas would strike with an arrow, not to kill but to distract. It would twist away from Setares, slithering after me. And I would lead it on a chase. If I could get Ravenwing and, possibly even the sighthound to go along with this, we would all lead the slithereen to twist after us, confusing it to head in different directions. Setares would be able to roll out of the way by then, hopefully. In the meantime, we would rush under the slithereen's arched head, faster than it could strike. We'd leap over its wormlike body. It would follow, twisting and twisting and twisting. Eventually it would tie itself into a series of tight knots. When its mobility was hampered- and hopefully its breathing- then Gatalas would take my vision cue and shoot a scythion-laden arrow down one of the slithereen's orifices.

That was the plan, anyway.

What happened next, however, was not in the plan.

I galloped towards the beast. The bow string sang as it was stretched back even further to make the distracting strike. I heard Kourosh barking in fury and the echoing hooves of Ravenwing, pacing the slithereen on the other side of me.

::_We're going to make a Knot::_ I thought-sent to the gelding. :_:Can you help with the motions?::_

And then, before Ravenwing could respond, a sun burst into being in front of the slithereen's head, appearing just over Setares' upstretched hand. At least that the only mundane way I could understand it. It was a burst of light, pure and white and sharp. I dug my hooves into the ground, tossing my head as my eyes were now filled with shards of light. I had temporarily been blinded.

_::Holy Hrani! What is that?:: _I called, an embarrassing neigh of fear erupting from me, _::I can't see!::_

"Easy! Take it easy, doostam, " Gatalas' voice was soothing my equine panic, but he must have been startled by this, too, since he had just lost his link to my eyesight, "Just keep yourself together, Horsebutt. There are senses other than sight. As long as we stick together, we will be fine."

Bless you, Rider.

_::Hey, I can still see! I can see, Eyeful!:: _Lux cried out with an excited thought burst and squeak. :_:I'll get you out of the way! Turn to your right, away from the giant maggot-thing!::_ I felt a paw tap my right side, warm dragon scales brushing my winter fur, and I turned towards my right, stumbling away from the roaring of the slithereen and the calls of my equine and canine companions.

:_:Ooooh, there's something smoky coming from the light that the Monster on the ground threw. The something is purple and hisses and smells sharp and dangerous:: _Lux was morbidly excited, :_:It's falling into the pale, horrible thing's mouth. Keep moving, Eyeful. You're almost away.::_

I complied, feeling mighty helpless, but also fascinated by Lux's commentary. I couldn't help it: it was my Sarmatian fascination with all things morbid and charming.

I could hear a hideous bubbling sound, and I could now smell what Lux had: a sharp smell that put me in mind of tar or sulfur. It was hideous, and it stung my nostrils.

I snorted to clear them, and I heard Gatalas on my back, hacking, :"That's e-evil," he gasped through coughs, "But ...I hear... the slithereen! It's choking...even... more!"

I really wanted to know what was happening in this light-filled blindness. And I also felt an annoying blast of White Panic, that ancient equine urge in me to flee in terror rather than fight. _Kick it all, I am a WAR MARE! Not a stupid, wimpy... selfish... girly horse! _

I gritted my teeth and fought it down, realizing I needed to trust the dragon kitten and move to his directions- and hope he knew what in the Sky Lady's name he was doing.

_::We're far enough away, Eyeful. We can stop. Oh, wow. What an amazing thing to see. Oh! Just! Wow! The giant worm's... melting. Cool.::_

I halted, Gatalas shifting skillfully to move with me as I slowed down. And then I just stood, shaking my head until my watering eyes cleared again.

When my eyesight grudgingly returned, I saw all of us: Firemaker- horse- hound and dragon, and we were huddled together, staring at the stretched out corpse of a steaming slithereen. A purply haze floated over the limp creature, and the air still reeked of that sharp eye-burning scent.

Lux had hooked his right leg over the basket, and his tail now hung out the other end, thumping against the basket weave with excitement. Kourosh hung close to me, plumed tail down and shoulders hunched in caution. A low rumble spilled from his throat. Next to me, Ravenwing pawed one hoof and shook his head, rattling his nostrils in protest of the smell. Setares was leaning against his Turkmene's shoulder, arms wrapped around the blue- black steed's neck. His breathing was faster than any of ours, if that was possible, complete deep pants of terror.

At the moment, I realized just how young the artisan forge priest was. He may have been a priest, but he still could not have been older than late teens.

Gatalas' breathing had slowed down enough, now, for him to talk. I could not agree more with the anger that colored his voice. I could not see him from where he was on my back, but I could imagine how he looked. Even though his eyes would be flat and dead, the muscles around them worked just fine, and the expression on his face would make him seem like an angry hawk.

"What in the name of Marha was THAT?" Gatalas rasped, teeth gritted. His voice was level and calm, but that made his anger more deadly, "What did you just do, boy? No, I'll tell you what you did! You almost got all of us killed!"

"S-s-s-s-orry," Setares said, his voice a tight shadow of its usual confidence, "It was all I could think of. I s-s-shouldn't have done it. I know that."

Gatalas blew between his teeth in a growl of frustration, "I know I'll be sent to the Great Prison for getting mad at a forge priest, but so it is! That was insanity, Setares! Did you leave your common sense back at the caravan? We TOLD you to stay put! Instead, you threw that... that exploding _thing_ at it and took out all our eyesight. You made us defenseless along with the Slithereen. You made things worse than they were! what if the monster had not been affected and we would all have been light-blind?

"You thrice bitten... oh _arghhhh!_" Gatalas growled, unstrung his bow, and shook it in the general direction of Setares. ," Ooooh, I do so wish I could blaspheme a priest, but you'll probably throw another of those explosive whatever-things at me."

Setares stared cooly back at Gatalas, his fiery blue eyes level. Then, to his credit he shook his head and lowered it, "You are right, Gatalas. I did wind up making things worse. I should have listened to you. I guess I keep forgetting that once I leave the forge, I am out of my element of expertise."

He gestured to the steppes, "Out here, you're the expert. You've been fighting these creatures longer than I have, after all. So, Gatalas, I am sorry. I should have trusted your judgement."

He stuck out a hand to reach up and grab Gatalas' free hand. "Accept my forgiveness?"

My Rider wrapped his own around it and shook it, "Apology accepted." I felt a bit of hesitation when he did so, as if Gatalas were surprised by the touch of the young blacksmith's hand, "Now, there is a really serious issue to discuss, Forge Priest."

Gatalas' mouth now quirked up at the corner in a smile of mischief, "I'd like to know just what that was you threw at the slithereen. I have to admit from the sounds and the smell it must have been quite spectacular."

The forge priest smiled in relief and ran a hand over Ravenwing, making sure his Partner was not hurt in any way, "Just a little thing I have been tinkering with. I've been playing with the idea of little weapons shaped like balls. They would be 'packages' we could throw that would release poisonous powders over the Red Deaths and other Gatecrashers. The problem is in the release method, causing the powder to become active." He pulled the girth of Ravenwing's saddle and neck straps tighter and pat Ravenwing. "The release of the elements in the powder and their interaction causes a bright flash, but I underestimated how bright it would be."

He swung up onto Ravenwing, "So, it's flawed technology. A useless weapon in its current state. Back to the drawing vellum, I guess."

He nudged Ravenwing into a trot, and I fell behind the black Turkmene. Kourosh paced me. Lux turned in the basket so he could watch the slithereen's corpse dwindle away.

_::Hey there, kitten:: _ I sent to the little dragon, _::Thanks for saving our hides. I don't think we could have gotten away so easily without your help.::_

Lux turned back towards me, and chirped, _::Really? I saved you? I wasn't even thinking about it, honest. I just wanted us to get out of there... fast. I didn't know you were all left blind by the light.::_

I snorted and picked up the pace while Lux shifted himself around again to face forward. As he did so, he could not hide the smug sounding little purr that escaped his throat. He was pretty pleased with himself.

_::What's interesting, though, Lux, is why you did not get affected by the light? You could still see while the rest of us couldn't . Except for my Rider, of course. But, then again, he was left "blind", too because of losing my sight- connection.::_

Lux scratched his nose with the right front paw, :_:What do you mean? Your Rider does not see? Is that why his eyes look so creepy and dead? Is that why he is uglier than the usual Monster?:_

I winced, glad that Gatalas was not able to pick up on Lux's thoughts. :_:Yes, Lux. My Rider is blind. He sees because he is in contact with me. So, when I lost my sight back there, he also reverted back to being blind again. You should know, though, he is amazingly able to get by in spite of it. And, in my opinion, the loss of some part of your body does not mean the rest of you is lost, too. My Rider may look odd, but he is a good man. ::_

_::Heh. Still a Monster, though.:: _ Lux licked at his front paw and used it like a comb to wipe over his long muzzle, _::So I really was the only one who could see?::_

_::Yes, indeedy. And that is something to consider: how is it that you have the power to see past blinding light? Maybe it's a dragon trait?::_

_::Dunno. We'll have to ask some dragons that, when we meet 'em.:: _ Lux chirped again.

The blacksmith was riding ahead at a trot, lost in his own world. He muttered to himself various formulae and jibbery-jabbery stuff made up of many words ending in "ace" and "ex" and "tate" and other senseless monikers while his Turkmene trotted forward, ears swiveling back and down to drown out the noise of chemical compositions. Seems like Ravenwing was not as into this jabbering as much as his Rider was.

I moved faster until we Turkmenes were trotting together. Our legs and hooves matched each other, beat for beat. Dead grass reached up and hissed against our bellies and legs.

"The real problem is I am a blacksmith, not an alchemist." Setares said, finally, "I should be happy and content with playing with fire. But now I seem to have entered a blowing-up -

things phase."

"Then it's a good thing we're moving out of the steppes," Gatalas said, patting me, "Those little exploding balls of yours could burn down the steppes very easily."

A look of unintended evil mischief chased across Setares' gaunt face, "I know," he said, "That was the other reason I wanted to escort you. So I could do some.. test exp... uh... errr... I meant...play some ball games."

_::We'd better be very careful with this one::_ I warned Gatalas, ::_I think we're in for a rough ride.::_

Gatalas grunted in distracted agreement. He was still holding up the hand he had used to shake Setares,' as if figuring something odd out.

The slithereen seemed to be the only farewell present we got that day. We did pick up the pace and go back to galloping, thrilling again in the wingless flight.

There was a sound of thunder that approached us from over a grassy hill, and our tribe's horse herd came over the brow, moving down to gallop with us. It was for no reason other than fun. Yes, okay, I'll admit, it is true we equines do like to run for the sheer fun of it.

The lead mare had taken the herd out further from the caravan in search of last bits of grazing, but the herd soon would head back to our caravan. They, too, would join us and be taken to the winter encampment. In the back, the liver chestnut stallion, Deathblood, moved the stragglers along and kept an eye out for danger, a vigilant stallion to the end.

It was a fun free-for-all for a few moments as Ravenwing and I suddenly had a herd of galloping Turkmenes sweep around us, calling greetings and farewells. And a feel friendly insults, too, but I give back as good as I get. There was also some juicy gossip shouted over the galloping. Guess who was pregnant? And it might be twins! And just maybe... maybe that little chestnut sabino filly had recently been talking constantly to the rest of the herd about Gatalas' sister, Darya. Could a Bonding be in the future?

More than a few horses whinnied at seeing Lux :_:Hoy, little dragon! Aren't you the cute one?:: _

A yellow dun colt-foal, still young enough to have all his baby-fuzz, now galloped by me

_::Wanna race?:: _the striped foal asked Lux, who was baffled by this, since he had not been asked to link to the foal's thought speaking.

_::Oh, shut up, boy!::_ a little dark bay filly spat back at the dun colt as they raced next to me, _:: Can't you see the dragon has one leg bound up? He couldn't race you unless he flew.::_

_::That's why I wanted to race him. I like to win!::_

_::You're an ass!:: t_he filly slammed against the colt who wanted to race and bit him until he squealed.

_::No I'm not! I'm a horse. A Turkmene, to be precise.!::_

I laughed and let myself stretch out to a full gallop, leaving the bickering colt and filly behind me. Lux let out a draconian sound that I could only define as whooping in joy.

I was pleased that, even with a harness and Rider and packs (and a baby dragon), I was still faster than all of the others. It was fun overtaking the herd, I moved up the line of galloping Turkmenes, my hooves and beats matching each mare or foal as I passed. Dust and blades of dead grass flew up through the air as we ran, all of us celebrating our joy of moving fast over the plains.

Gatalas laughed like a teenage boy taking his first gallop on his bonded Turkemene and lowered himself closer to me so we could run faster. Lux squeaked in joy, and then in wonder , as he saw more Turkmene foals now appearing among the running mares (I have to admit we are cute little fishbones as foals. Everything just goes downhill after that.)

Now I passed Ylva the She-Wolf, the shaggy, wild looking lead mare, a brutal looking olive dun who had more scars than stripes. She was a tough old lady who had never bonded - a true wild Turkmene. She knew the migration patterns well and had an uncanny way of leading the herd to the best grazing and watering areas- and taking paths that led the herd from danger. She also took no guff and was often grumped about by the younger Turkemenes. But there was not a one of us who did not admire her "horse" sense and iron will.

She'd given me more than a few discipline kicks when I had joined the herd after bonding with Gatalas. (Me and my big mouth) But she also had respect in her eyes as she dipped her head to me and neighed best wishes to me.

Then I was past the herd and outstripping them. Ravenwing was trying to keep up, but he could not match my pace at a racing gallop. This whole herd mingling shindig made me realize how lucky our Riders were that they were on bonded Turkmenes. A mundane horse galloping past a herd would get too into the moment, blend into the herd and basically become uncontrollable for his or her rider. The poor Firemaker would be on a runaway until the herd decided to stop.

Deathblood trumpeted a farewell to us as Ravenwing now managed to gallop past the herd _::Good journeys and good grazing!::_

I saw the herd behind us as we moved westward, and I enjoyed their last swirl of colors. I saw flashes of light and dark brown, red and liver chestnuts, palominos, blueish black, gray, dappled gray, sand, blood and mahogany bays and, of course, many buckskins. The most common color, though, was striped dun: yellow, brown, blue and olive duns. (I was the only red dun in the herd). No matter the color, each Turkmene's coat glowed with that metallic sheen that is the mark of our breed- our inner dragon fire, we like to joke.

_::So many colors,:: _Lux breathed, amazed. ::_And they all glow! Your sparks are showing! I didn't know your people came in so many colors, Eyeful.::_

_::We do. It's always a celebration to see us run together because of all our colors. _:: I felt a pride in my heart, too. And love for our Riders who appreciate we come in many colors.

Some Firemakers (not calling any names, but the initials are 'Broomheads') decided that the color of an animal indicates its abilities, so certain colors were seen as the signs of a bad horse. One of those colors Broomheads hated was dun because it is the "primitive" original wild horse color. They advised encouraged breeding it out so dun would no longer exist among horses. The idea spread, so dun coloring has been appearing less and less among mundane horses. It's completely gone from the Arab and Barb horses and most Broomhead horse breeds. But our Riders feel dun is the most special color, especially yellow and brown dun because the Turkmene glow transforms these colors into pure, glowing gold. It was these colors that made us known to the Western Chinese as "The Horses of Heaven," for our coats that glowed like sun.

We moved fast, but the sun was sinking downwards as we crossed past the boundary poles with Red Death skulls, heading away from our beloved steppes. I think all of us felt a bit of sadness, but also the pull of adventure.

After that, our path took us back towards Nowheresville. Gatalas and Setares had planned on overnighting here. It was a logical stop and, from here, we still could make good time to gallop up to catch Banadaspos and the others. We were moving far faster than the Dragon troop, who were going at a conservative trot and walk military pace, compared to our trotting and cantering.

It was also a chance to take on some dried fruits and vegetables for the journey. And for both humans to have what could be their last bath for a while. Sarmatians prefer steam baths, but considering it would be too cold to bathe easily in the wilderness, our Sarmatian Firemakers were willing to put up with the hot water scrub down method in a tube located in a... gasp... one of those tomb/house things.

First Setares went, and then Gatalas. I found that odd, but Setares had seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion that the guys go to the bathhouse together. Gatalas just nodded and gestured for the boy to go first.

_::Strange behavior. But then, again, he is a priest:: _I told Gatalas.

My Rider nodded and pulled the tie from his blond hair, letting it unbraid on its own, _ ::Indeed.::_

I got the impression from his voice that he was summing up some things in his mind but was not yet ready to discuss them. So I went back to munching on the sun dried timothy hay spread out for Ravenwing and I. (Ohhh, yeh. This was living!) Near the black Turkmene, Kourosh lounged on his side, eyes closed in contentment.

Later, both Sarmatians were relieved to be clean as they sat by the fire the village council had built for the impromptu dinner. They dined on a humble but apparently succulent chicken vegetable stew and bread. Gatalas filched a few slices of brown bread for me to crunch on. My Rider had already discretely filled his camp drinking cup with stew which he dusted with more of the healer's medicine. He slid the cup into the basket, and soon the basket began to make slurping sounds.

Lux was not enjoying being so close to this many Firemakers, and I could hear muted grumbling and hissing from the basket as the dragon lapped up his dinner. Luckily, once the kitten finished eating the dosed meat, he nodded off to sleep in the basket, coiled around himself, long head resting on the forked end of his tail. He positioned his healing leg so that it would be as straight as possible.

None of the villagers realized there was a dragon right under their nose as they ate with us. It was a rather boring time for Gatalas, since he did not speak Slavic, but Setares did, and the blacksmith cheerfully chatted away with the village priest- no doubt swapping priestly anecdotes and gossip. Setares had probably washed his hair, but he was presently wearing the leather head bandana, as usual. The fawn-colored sighthound, Kourosh, had already eaten his chicken meat and now was dozing by the forge priest.

Setares now paused to talk to the pretty, but sulky, adolescent girl who came up to top off the Sarmatians' beer mugs and to make sure Ravenwing and I had enough hay.

The dark haired village girl obviously did not enjoy being dragged from her friends' ball game and being pressed into service. She made it clear to us with her grumpy attitude. She talked to Setares as she moved around, and the smith translated for us.

Now that we were not wearing our dragon uniforms, the petulant girl found we Turkmenes particularly ugly and unimpressive, and she complained about that mightily.

_::Sticks and stones may break my bones...:: _Ravenwing snorted,_ ::If you looked at the beast _her_ family uses for a plow horse, I am pretty sure she has no concept of what's beautiful or impressive.::_

"She's also a bit creeped out- in a fascinated way, of course- by our constantly having our horses near us," Setares translated for the girl, "She was actually surprised that we are eating on the ground instead of sitting on the horses."

"She's not far off from the truth," Gatalas said, savoring some of the chicken stew- his last home cooked meal in a long time, "No right-thinking Sarmatian would ever consider walking when we can ride."

The girl said something in her liquid, dancing language and Setares grinned. The girl grinned back in a rather mean way, and I got the impression she was trying to be a bit difficult and taunting.

"She also finds it rather pathetic that so many of us ride mares rather than manly, proud stallions. She thinks it's because we... uh... how do I translate this... uh... we don't hang out around human women much since we're so barbaric most women would find us vulgar."

"She included, no doubt?" Gatalas smiled and moved his spoon deeper into the bowl, "Our hair's too long and, like the old song goes, 'we're wild and wooly and full of fleas, and we never take a bath above our knees'. The usual stereotype."

Setares brushed a small hand across his head bandana and quirked a brow as he listened to the slender girl's snide grumbling. "Ah... whoa! This is good. She asked if we are so close to our horses that we... ummm... how to put it delicately? We... sleep with our horses at night?" the forge priest said with sheepish reluctance, "I think she's trying to insult us, maybe? Show her girl friends she can tease the Sarmatian barbarians. We have to be nice back to her and put up with her insinuations so we don't violate the honor code of host and guest."

Gatalas, to my surprise, laughed softly, "No, good priest. I would almost wager she's secretly fascinated by the prospect of this animal mating with human thing. She's one of those types. I've met 'em before on my guide expeditions. Did you know they make up stories and songs about it, even, that they sing around the fires at night? "

Gatalas added silkily, "This could be fun."

If Gatalas had not been blind, there would have been a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He stretched, yawned and reached up to scratch my neck with a totally romantic, goony (and totally fake) look on his face. He made some stupid kissing noises at me and then said, in a very bored-sounding voice, "But, of course! Why, sometimes, on a really long trip, I've fallen asleep riding Eyeful and just let her find her way. She knows the route. I can sleep on the back of my horse as well as I can in my wagon. So, yes, I do sleep with my horse."

He pulled my face down further and started stroking me as though I were a beautiful woman _::Play along with me on this, okay, Eyeful?::_

:_:Oh, but of course, RIderkins!::_

"But, I think our young friend has something different in her kinky little mind. Just tell her what she wants to hear. Sometimes, on a really long and lonely trip... well, hey... things happen. I am lonely. My horse is lonely. Strange feelings come up and, well... there you go! I know the details of our difference in forms makes things a challenge... but true love and those unexplainable desires always find a way, right? The long and short of it is that centaurs have to come from somewhere. I'd advise the young lady, though, to stick to ponies first and work her way up. I'd be happy to give a few pointers. And I am sure my friend, Skuda, would be happy to discuss her experiences, as well- if our young teen friend here wants the women's perspective."

Setares, to his credit, translated this stoically to the now-stunned looking girl while Gatalas looked in the girl's general direction with a very innocent smile, patting my neck with over the top affection. I played along with the act and nibbled on his hair and nickered sweetly.

Then Gatalas kissed me right on the muzzle with a totally exaggerated romantic kiss. Only a sheltered village adolescent girl would realize this was stage acting.

Our tormentor happened to fit that stereotype. The teen swallowed a bit, turned pale, and then said something that clearly indicated, "Um...uh... okay, Well... bye!"

She headed off as fast as she could. Which turned out to be very fast.

She stayed away from us for the rest of the evening, as it turned out.

For the next few minutes Setares and Gatalas were laughing too hard to talk.

_::Rider. You are a very naughty man... and I think that's just great, sir!::_

_::Why thank you, Horsebutt. Always fun to educate the youth of today on the facts of life and mythology. And they should be careful what they fantasize about.::_

He sighed, "I would like to think Skuda would have found that funny. I really miss her company. Just think, a few nights ago, she and I and you and her horse were sitting in this village and- it was so nice to be together and... now... they are, gone.," He sighed, sadly, "I hope she and the others are okay. "

_::But, especially, Skuda, right?:: _ I teased

"Oh, hush, Horsebutt. Go to sleep and dream about hunky, willing and eager stallions. And not about making centaurs, please!"

_::Ugh. Do you want me to have nightmares? But I did like the hunky stallion part. I'll focus on that. Good night, Rider!::_

The evening wound down. We all settled for the night. The two Firemakers refused to sleep inside a Nowheresville house, so they pitched a tent not far from the fire, and Kourosh managed to worm his way in to join them. Ravenwing and I dozed off to sleep, standing up. The basket remained close to the night-banked fire so it would stay warm for its sleeping occupant.

* * *

I have to admit these last few days have been very nice. It's like I somehow I was blown from the evil Monsters in their up and down wooden water thing and have escaped into a new world.

I've been clean and warm, and my belly has been bulging full of the most amazing food. I eat it, I savor the beautiful balance of salt and juices, the true textures and flavors. Sometimes it is red and tastes deep and rich. Tonight it is white and has a delicate, gentle taste that soothes me and makes me feel graceful and clean inside.

I know meat comes from living creatures and that my kind... dragons... we have to eat meat to survive. It is how things are. But I still give a thank you to the creatures whose meat I ate. And I want to use the life they gave me in their meat to do something good. It somehow seems right to say thank you. I have done without real food for so long. This is, truly, a gift. I promise you, red and white meat creatures... I will not waste what you gave me in your meat. Thank you for your gift of life.

The food feels so good going down my throat. And then I feel nice and sleepy, and I feel like I can go to sleep and no one will hurt me.

Best of all, I feel that when I wake up, and the light shines on me again, no one is going to hurt me. So far, they have let me be in peace. A simple gift, but one I appreciate.

And I actually discovered something: if you let the light from the disc in the sky touch you, it makes you nice and warm all over. It does not hurt you and make you bruised and bleeding. It was the Monsters who made it seem evil because they were the ones who hurt me. Actually, on its own, the sky disc even seems to make me feel healed and balanced and ... right... somehow.

True, the air these days still stinks too much of Monster, but just being able to relax without worrying about the next few moments being full of danger and pain has been so lovely.

I think it is the blue-black dragon and the reddish-yellow strange creature who are doing this. They somehow make these new Monsters have to be nice to me. Eyeful, the reddish-yellow creature is not one of my kind. She is something that is not quite monster, not quite dragon. She is strange. I want to like her, but she is so strange. And she is not my kind.

But the black dragon_ is_ my kind. I may not be of his tribe, but I know I am a dragon. According to him, I am of the Smart Ass People.

I want to know more about me. And why can I do such unusual things like seeing through the exploding light when the others around me could not? So, I am a Smart Ass dragon, but what, exactly , is a Smart Ass dragon? I want to know more about my people!

The black dragon could help me. I bet if I slept the right way, I could meet him again. Eyeful said I had with her, before, on the Dreampaths. She had explained to me that, by linking my mind with her, it helped me to be able to travel the paths because of her link with her Monster. That seemed very complicated to me, but maybe she was right.

I decided, tonight, to will myself to deeper sleep. The meat had me tired, but I wanted to get even more relaxed and tired so I could find the Dreampaths. That meant I had to put myself in a deeper trance.

I had done this before many times while being a prisoner to the Monsters. It helped me to pass the lonely days of pain. Of course, I just cried harder when I woke up and was still imprisoned, but the trances did help me in the interim.

With warmth , good food, and a day of adventure in the crisp air, sliding into a trance was as easy as slipping into a stream for a bath.

And then, suddenly, I was looking into another view, another scene, though I still felt I was lying in my basket-bed.

I was on the Dreampaths! This was easier than I thought!

This new, Dreampath view, was surrounded by trees and many flowers of lovely colors. Birds sang their twilight warning songs to each other.

I then noticed the four Monsters walking toward me. No- not walking, making little hopping motions and doing that strange ululation with their voice that sometimes sounds nice. My mean Monsters- what Eyeful calls _River Rats_- had made type of ululation noises when they tried to hang me. But these Monsters in front seemed to be making similar noises out of sheer happiness, and their sounds were actually quite pleasant to hear.

They were odd Firemaker/Monsters, indeed. The most normal one was a female Firemaker/Monster with long, dark head fur and white and blue body wraps. Then there was a Monster who had skin like woven grass, and he was stuffed with dead grass. And a Monster who was made of sword metal. And a really strange Monster who reminded me of the great cats I remembered seeing roaming the lands ... _wait_! Was that a memory of my long lost days before I became a prisoner to the cruel River Rat Monsters? Had I come from a land where these large golden cats roamed?

This Monster, anyway, was a blend of both FIremaker/Monster and big, golden cat with lots of brown head fur. I found him the most beautiful of the Monsters.

Then I noticed the ground beneath the Monsters was made of strange, evenly shaped golden stones.

The Monsters hopped towards me, their happy voices chanting. I felt really odd. I was scared of them and ,yet, I felt they would not hurt me if they saw me.

I also realized there was no canyon or black dragon in sight.

Okay... so maybe these Dreampaths are _not_ as easy to figure out as I thought.!

I let myself sink further into the trance, and the vision disappeared.

I guess there are many Dreampaths out there, and you have to find the right one.

Then I was on another part of the Dreampaths. This one had lots of beautifully falling, soft snow and scenic mountains and slender trees that were delicate in their beauty. Even though it was winter, the trees gave off a faint smell like a sweet, red fruit I had tried once- I think both the fruit and trees were called _cherry_, and maybe this land was famous for them?

Rather graceful,happy-natured, golden skinned female Firemaker/Monsters with beautifully slanted eyes played in the snow. They laughed with tinkling laughter and tossed snow balls at one another. I realized they were shapeshifters. Every once in a while they would transform into beautiful, delicate red foxes. Each fox had at least two tails. These exquisite, cheerful creatures kept shifting back and forth between fox and Firemaker/Monster as they played. The air was full of their joy.

It was a beautiful image, and I enjoyed seeing the shapeshifting fox/Firemakers, but they were nowhere close to any black dragon.

Sorry, wrong Dreampath.

So I tried a third time.

And _there_ was the black dragon, sleeping on his side in a medium sized, oddly slanted wooden shelter open to the front so he could wander out as he pleased. A nice fire crackled at the front of the shelter, and I sensed the soothing warmth it radiated back onto the sleeping dragon.

The blue-black Lightning Person snored magnificently, and he had some lumpy blankets piled up against one side of him, probably keeping him warm. I wanted to burrow in and join him, cuddling up against him like he was a big brother- hmm. _Brother? _ It was another forgotten concept that just popped into my head. Did I have brothers? Sisters?

It was _such_ a nice thought to cuddle with him... except he'd probably bite my head off if I tried it.

So, instead I crouched down on three legs and gave a little bark, loosely waving my tail back and forth to show I was friendly. :_:scuse me? Uh... sir? Would you ever mind so much... waking...::_

The dragon launched his head up from the ground with a snarl of surprise that turned into a snap of the jaws.

_::...up?::_ I finished, my brave bark sliding into a squeak.

Intense, glowing, gold-flecked green-grey eyes met mine.

_::Who! Are! You!::_

I hunched lower. _::D-d-d-d-d-on't you remember me? You helped me to open my memory stone... sir?::_

_::No, I have no idea who you are, kitten. Can't you see I 'm trying to sleep here?:: _The black dragon's tail slashed the air behind him with angry thumps on wood and dirt.

I stood up again and made myself as brave as I could, _::I-I'm the Smart Ass Person, remember?::_

The Lightning Person dragon stared at me for a moment and then started to make the grunting noises that I realized was laughter. _::Smart Ass Person? You have a pretty good sense of humor, kitten. That actually was funny. But, seriously, I do not know you.::_

I remembered, now, the dragon had mentioned he probably would not remember our last meeting since this would probably not be his last dream for the night. This seemed to be the case. Certainly, I saw no glint of recognition in his eyes. I also saw that he could open both eyes, now. The bruises on his striped, dark hide also seemed to be fading.

_::You _did _meet me, sir. I remember you had a black eye when I met you , before. And bruises. But you still have that bandage on your shoulder.:: _I thought sent, _::You must heal fast.::_

:_:Hmm. Interesting- that _was_ how things were for me a couple of days ago. So you _must_ have met me. And, yes, we People do heal very fast. We have to, with the kind of lives we lead. I hope that's the case for you, too. You look like you've been through some rough times.::_

I dipped my head in acknowledgment, ::_Yes, sir. Like I told you, then. It was Monsters who hurt me. What you call Firemakers. And I do feel better, now. I thought it was because of the things the good Monsters who now keep me have given me. But, I guess there also has been some natural dragon healing.:: _

I shook my head. My ear sensors were moving a bit better now, though the right one still drooped more than I would have liked. It was the one that had been nicked badly by a Monster's knife when he had pinned my ear sensors to the wall. I remember it had been to prove his knife throwing skills. He had laughed in victory as the blood from my ears ran down the wall where I had been pinned.

_I_ forced down that memory_ ::Anyway, Lightning Person sir, I wanted to ask if you could tell me more about how to... well, can you train me how to be a dragon?::_

More laughter.

I snarled. ::_That's not funny! I was taken prisoner by Monsters when I was very young! Well.. young-er. I didn't know what I was until you told me. Can't you show me how I am supposed to act?.::_

_::Just act like yourself:: _the Lightning Person laughed some more, but this time it was a kinder laugh, :_:But you _will_ have to work on your roaring. That squeaking is quite cute, but it's not going to bring down your enemies' hearts in mortal fear. Unless you happen to be waging a war against gnats.::_ He stretched and yawned, showing an array of beautiful, ivory, jagged teeth.

I was mightily impressed and crooned in admiration. Wind blew through the trees in the dragon's world, and the air was suddenly filled with whispering, dry leaves.

_::Roaring is important, see, kid? That's the basis for our firepower. When you roar, your sound and fury comes out. Breathing fire starts with a roar, but instead of our voice, we channel our fire sacks inside us to open and disgorge. So flame comes out instead of a voice. It takes a lot of practice.:_:, the Lightning Person grinned wider, :: _In your case, I would guess, a LOT of practice._::

_::Hey, now!:: _ I found myself standing up to my unimpressive height that towered all the way over the dragon's... toenails.

I roared my anger... and it came out in a squeak.

The Lightning Person chuckled. _::Impressive. I seem to be having a non heart attack in non fear. Oh, well. I guess I am suddenly a student teacher, now. A teenager teaching a kid. Well, what's the harm in it...?::_

He seemed to be directing this last sentence to himself as he launched to his feet. He wobbled a bit and toppled back onto his side. Shaking his head, he sat up again and then stood up slowly, the lumpy blanket at his side, moving a bit away from him_. ::I hate this. My scorching sensors still are out of whack. Don't know how Hiccup and I are going to fly now if I cannot even stand up right. ::_

I watched, bemused, as the Lightning Person padded towards me, sleek, handsome, dangerous. He sat in front of me and watched me coolly, _ ::Open your mouth and take a deep breath of air.:: _ he sent, opening his own magnificent jaws, :_:Drink it in::_

I did so, my taste sensors inhaling the delicious aromas of chicken and fire smoke, and the pleasant, smoky scent of Eyeful and her black comrade.

_::Now, expand those sorry little things that are your ribs. Yes, like that. Good kitten. Feel the strength in you. Let the air enrich you, give its breath to your breath. Now- push the air out and - watch me- see, notice how I am dipping my chin a bit? _That _opens the voice box more. And then you can roar your pride!::_

A magnificent tenor roar belled out across the air, blasted from the Lightning Person's throat.

I felt a shiver of savage joy run down my spine.

Eagerly, I followed the Lightning Person and did the same.

My squeak tickled the air and died a miserable death. :

:_Oh, poofcrud.:: _ I ducked my head in disappointment.

To my surprise, I felt a warm touch brush across my head as the dragon nuzzled me, _::Not bad for the first time, junior. It takes practice. Anything good does. And what kind of a swear word is "Poof crud? " You need a more potent cuss word- like "Scorch!" ::_

I was bewildered: how would a dream enable me to feel a touch from another creature far away from me? This was weird.

_::Your mind is filling it in. I'm not actually touching you.:: _the dragon told me calmly.

He proceeded to show me some breathing exercises, to help me develop the weak muscles around my ribs. He noticed they had been cracked a few times. It was quite amazing that the ribs had not broken and had healed relatively well.

I followed him on the exercises, breathing in and out in various ways. He also had me practice growling and purring in a low voice to work the lower range of my voice that would translate to a roar.

_::Do this several times a day, kid. It will help you to work up a good roar. And a good roar can be translated into developing a good fire blast,::_

I cocked my head, taking this in, _::Does it help if I get angry? Like if I thought about about how the River Rat Monsters tortured me?::_

The Lightning Person curled a lip up, ::_Not really. That's the easy way out. Anger may give you strength, but it takes away your focus. You don't always roar in anger, so you should not always use anger to fuel your roars- or your fires. You'll never learn to direct to direct your flame- whatever type of flame you have- if you are affected by anger.::_

He stretched his finned shoulder limbs out, then, and I gasped at the beauty of their length and their sleek lines. So many colors rippled across them: blue, black, deep grey. And they were marked with small splashes of dark gray and silver marks. I purred at the patterns.

_::Checking out my freckle collection, I see?:: _the Lightning Person said with a deep chuckle,::_ I live with 'em. My Firemaker has even more than I do. Anyway, I just want to show you some more exercises. You have wings, but from the way you are holding them, you've never exercised them right. The muscles need to be lengthened and straightened. Then- and only then- can you move onto the art of flight.::_

_::Flight:: _I breathed softly. The thought of being able to soar smoothly across the sky, to work with the wind and not be battered by it... it was amazing. Would I ever be able to experience that?

The LIghtning Person nodded his head, indicating I should stretch my shoulder limbs... my wings. I tried to, but they barely moved from my sides. I knew, if I were awake, there would be fiery pain running along the limbs. They had been badly strained by the wind when I had been thrown out of the RIver Rat Monster's saddle bags during the raid.

I learned a few more exercises, all focused on gently and firmly coaxing my collapsed wings to stretch out, to be what they should have been. I also discovered that, like the LIghtning Person, I had two sets of wings! One set would power me up and down and provide basic balance. The smaller set at my flanks would help me to even out my balance and adjust for wind currents.

We quit only when I started to yawn.

_::You must be located further east than I::_ the caustic young Lightning Person said, _::You'll probably wake soon. I still have hours more of sleep. And I intend to enjoy them with gusto.:: _ He touched my nose with his own, :_:I suppose if we meet again, it would be a good idea for you to introduce yourself to me, as I won't remember you. Good luck with the practice.::_

He moved back to the pile of blankets, accidentally hitting against them with his beautiful, long tail.

Something grunted from the blanket, and it was a very Monsterish sort of noise.

The Firemaker/Monster hiding in the blankets shook them off his head and let out an irritated grumble. Its (his?) eyes were closed, and he seemed to be well into his sleep.

I growled and hissed, making sure that Firemaker/Monster in the blankets knew I would fight to the death if it reached out of its sleep and tried to hurt me. Something about its appearance looked too much like the RIver Rat Monsters to make me at ease.

_::Oh, just throw some water on it, would you?:_: the Lightning Person said with a sly grin,_ ::Be at ease, junior. When can you get it through that wolf-shaped skull of yours that not all Firemakers are evil?:: _

He indicated towards the Firemaker sleeping next to him, :_:He fell asleep working on harness improvements for me, so we're having a nice lil ole sleepover. He, by the way, happens to be one of the good ones. Like the ones who are healing you. And I'd rather your hissing didn't startle him onto the Dreampaths. He does not know about these Dreampaths.: So he'd be slightly terrified if he woke up now.::_

I briefly wondered why the black dragon's roaring would not wake up his rider, but my quieter hissing would. Anyway, Idesisted and got a better look at the Firemaker- what of him was not covered by blankets. It meant I had to walk closer to the black dragon, but he let me do so, his eyes calm and fierce.

The Firemaker-Monster did not seem as terrifying as the usual River Rat, though his hide coloring and general appearance was much like theirs. He was much smaller and almost as bony as me, but in his case I think it was his build and not caused by starvation and abuse. He seemed to have the mildest expression I have ever seen on a Monster.

I must have thought-sent that unconsciously, for the Lightning Person crooned softly, _::No, you are right and wrong. Hiccup has not been starved, like you. But he has been often beaten up. I saw his scars and was shocked by how people of his own age group have abused and bullied him. Somehow, it makes them feel better about themselves.::_

The dragon laid his head on his sleeping friend´s shoulder. To me, it seemed strangely touching that the proud, powerful predatorial black dragon would be friends with someone so gentle looking.

As if reading my thoughts, the sleeping Firemaker reached a hand/paw out and touched the black dragon's hide, muttering something like _"Jæja ,félaginn minn"_

I know enough of River Rat bilge to know he was saying, "Hey, buddy."

The black dragon nuzzled the darkish, unevenly choppy fur on the Firemaker/Monster's head, _::He may not look like much, but he's a very strong guy underneath it all. He's more than all right by me. He came through for me when others- others who I thought were my allies- did not. He's a true friend. I think I'll keep him. I can only hope he thinks the same of me.::_

The dragon's eyes met mine, and they were full of sadness and loss, _::I have seen enough Firemakers in my journeyings, little dragon, and they are not all cruel. I hope you keep that in mind. There are some out there who are worthy of our friendship.::_

_::You have not been through what I've been through with them:: _I thought sent, careful not to hiss or spit, _::It's hard to be open-minded when, deep down, I am afraid they are playing a trick on me to make me feel safe and warm and then kill me. Or, worse, torture me for fun.::_

_::I haven´t had your experiences, true: _The Lightning Person said,_ ::But I´ve recently learned a few lessons about who, really, is a friend - and who is not. Those true friends may be people we would have ignored because they don't look like true friends. Don't blind yourself to meeting someone who is a real friend.::_

We spent our last moments on the Dreampaths staring at each other, those thoughts hanging between us.

* * *

Morning. The usual oblations. Brush, hay, water. Hooves cleaned with a pick. Firemakers washing their face, cleaning their teeth, drinking hot milk and eating bread. Dog and dragon eating raw meat.

Jingling harness, stomping hooves, breath drifting on the crisp fall air.

And now we were trotting from the village, heading north and west- following the coordinates deducted from Toothless' mindstone data but interpolated onto our region.

Lux seemed very thoughtful, but also much happier than he had been yesterday. I could hear him making funny breathing noises in the travel basket and wondered what was going on in his silly little mind.

As we trotted past a small Firemaker wheel-less encampment known as a "faherm", a loud whistle made all of us turn our heads.

A tall, Slavic Firemaker man strode towards us, a pale, thin girl at his side. The girl looked vaguely familiar, and I realized she was the one Gatalas and I had rescued from the River Rats.

She was carrying a leather sack, the kind that holds soups and other liquids for a long journey.

She moved towards me. I stopped and watched, not sure if she was going to scream again.

The man spoke to us. Setares listened, and then translated, "The girl wants to apologize. She was scared from her experience. You saved her life, and she wanted to thank you. She made you something for your journey. Some nourishing soup. "

Gatalas nodded in gratitude, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

He had my eyesight from being on me, so he was able to lean down and take the still-warm soup bag.

The girl stared at his eyes, curious, and she said something.

"She had not realized you were blind," Setares said softly, "And she is amazed how you can do so much without your eyesight."

Gatalas nodded his head again and touched her hand. She smiled back, a faint smile of a girl trying to pull herself together, and said something.

"She says she hopes she will see you again."

Gatalas laughed softly and smiled, "I wish I could say the same."

We rode off again. As we did, Lux stuck his head out of the basket _::Okay to let my head come out of the basket?::_

I nickered and Lux popped both his left and right leg out. I noticed he seemed to be a little less dull in color, as though the scales were covering some brighter shades beneath them. And his splinted leg moved more fluidly than it had yesterday.

Good signs.

So, I won't bore you with the rest of the day but that we moved over these forested steppes, a region of grassy, rolling steppeland with islands of trees. I could see the tracks where the Dragon Unit had moved a few days before, the ground beaten down by unshod hooves.

We reached the_ Dānu apara _river and moved up alongside its banks. It was still too treacherous to cross here- the ferry boats would be further up the river, where it was broader and safer to cross.

I did wonder what happened to the River Rats' floating wagons. Did the villagers find them and claim them? Perhaps get the stolen goods from on board? Did they chop the floating wagons down for firewood?

Towards midday, we took a break for lunch in a river cove where there was still enough green in the grass to give good nutrition for we Turkmenes. Setares started a fire. It took only a few moments to suspend the sack of the farm girl's homemade soup over the fire and heat it for the humans. When they ate lunch, both of them praised the goodness of the soup and sang a little grace to Marha, not forgetting the touching parts about evil snakes waiting to devour us in the underworld.

There was just that quiet little discussion among the humans. Lux, however, spilled out of his basket and eagerly ate his portion of the chicken meat that the villagers had given, intended for the hound and humans. But Gatalas and Setares willingly gave most of theirs to the little dragon and the rest to the sighthound.

Kourosh lapped at his portion and licked at this nose, in his usual dignified way. He watched Lux, who was practicing picking up the meat, tossing it in the air, and swallowing it whole.

Lux then started flexing his wings out in an amusing way, and blowing his rib cage out and in like a blacksmith bellows.

Kourosh cocked his head and whined, then lowered his head on his paws as if to say, "Silly young thing."

I chuckled to myself and turned my ears to the Firemakers as they ate their good soup and bread, eyes pointed at the sky. Both sighted eyes and blind eyes.

"I know it's not a fun prospect, but the scouts have said on past missions that there are bluffs with caves further up the river. We'll have to ride hard to get there by nightfall, but we should be safe for the night there," Gatalas said, poking idly at the small fire with a stick.

"What do you mean?" Setares asked, carefully.

"Dragon attacks. We're getting closer to their origin point, and we know they've been raiding Nowheresville. As we head further north and west we'll be exposing ourselves to their attacks. We should plan each evening on going under cover. Unless you want to work on getting a good- and rather fiery- tan."

"Hmmm," Setares said, folding his arms, "But we do have the Point Wards. That should help. In case we are caught in the open, of course."

Gatalas and I knew about the Point Wards. We carried the stakes for them in my saddlepacks on all our journeys. That was our secret to how one man and a Turkmene could sleep on the steppes without taking watches through the night. They were so mundane to us by now that we rarely put much thought into them as part of our campsite setup routine. Even the caravans and dragons did not notice they were anything special, even though they were very important.

I did, honestly, though doubt Point Wards would be much use against a dragon attack.

Setares opened his arms again and faced the palms of his hands outward, "They would be of help, I think."

I snorted in surprise as Gatalas deliberately moved a hand blindly over where he estimated Setares' hand would be. The youth reached up and snatched Gatalas' wrist, imitating an invisible response to a dragon attack. The idea of how Point Wards might nullify a dragon attack.

Gatalas folded his larger hands around the wrist. Setares started to pull back and then stared with the scorching, yet daringly- steady, blue eyes at Gatalas.

"I see," Gatalas said, affably, "There is one more question on my mind. And - let me assure you in advance, I am only curious. I am not going to hurt you, because you'll probably throw one of those blast ball things at me. But I always thought the priesthood was open to both men and women. So

why are you pretending like you are a man, Setares? Or whatever your real name is, my lady?"

* * *

And there ya be.

By the way, Kourosh is based on the Saluki dog, also known as a pharaoh hound, though he is a lot shaggier overall, living in a climate that can get cold in the winters. His name comes from Iranian and means "Generous King"

And, take note, future chapters are going to have a lot of action, but they also will be quite gritty.


	8. She was a Man

**Chapter 8**

**A/N-** And on to the next chapter! I had to go out on a limb and do some crazy research on Roman times and their Central European empire. They apparently did also deal in trade for Baltic amber. Hope I did this research justice! Also, if there is anyone out there who has studied Latin, I'd love if you could correct my pathetic Google Translate/interpolations from modern Romance Languages. Gatalas and the priest know Latin because they interacted with Romans often. But I, unfortunately, know little Latin.

I'll be grateful for any proper Latin translations! I'll even send baked goods!

**Update!-** Thank you to **The Eight** for helping straighten out my Latin translations. Any errors are entirely my own, so let me know what I still need to fix. Gratias vobis ago!

* * *

**Chapter 8- _She_ was a Man**

_"Reason is poor propaganda when opposed by the yammering, unceasing lies of shrewd and evil and self-serving men_."- R.A. Heinlein,_ Assignment in Eternity_

**Disclaimer, brought to you in Pig Latin courtesy of the Dialectizer: ** Iyay on'tday ownyay agonsdray oryay Ikingsvay. Eythay elongbay otay Eamworksdray andyay Essidacray Owellcay!

(Basically, if it's dragon or Viking/River Rat, it's not mine.)

* * *

"It's Setareh. My name, I mean. I didn't have to change it that much," the blacksmith said softly and then pulled back hard with his- no her- arm, trying to get Gatalas to release it.

My Rider did so, keeping his general gaze directed at where he estimated Setereh's head to be. He was off by some inches, so it was a bit eerie looking, as though he were staring at a ghost over the young forge priest's shoulder.

Setareh shook her hand a few times and then crossed her arms. I snorted softly, quite surprised myself. Even though she had admitted it, I still found it hard to believe this young one facing my Rider was a woman.

Everything about her- her posture, the hard lines of her jaw, her flat, lean torso, her huskier, tenor (no- actually contralto ) voice- everything seemed masculine. I thought of the artisan, domestic women like Darya and the warrior women like Skuda. They were strong and confident, skilled with the bow and able to ride like they were one with a horse. But there was no doubt at all of their femininity. Setareh really did look like a beardless young man.

She started to close up the soup sack but Gatalas shook his head, "No. Tarry a little longer. I want to hear why you are... all this." he gestured at Setareh- or he meant to. Instead he summed up why the tree behind her was "all this."

That unintentional gesture made the forge priest smile a bit. All of Banadaspos' people knew Gatalas would make very understandable mistakes, and when we smiled it was in understanding, not laughing at him. After all, no one in this plane of existence is perfect.

"I really thought I had everyone fooled," the young woman said regretfully.

"You're dealing with someone who doesn't rely on eyesight," Gatalas said warmly, "When we shook hands in forgiveness, I felt from your hand's shape right away that it was a woman's hand- a guy your age would have larger and heavier hands. And the bathhouse was an obvious clue. But there other signs: when you walked back from the bathhouse there was a certain sound in your movement that did not seem entirely like a guy's steps. The hips, you know- they make a difference in how men and women move. I was guessing you were tired from the long day, so were not focusing on making your walk more masculine But up to then, your gait was a guy's gait." He raked a hand through his hair, "And, I have to admit, you have done a fantastic job of covering it up. The average person would never guess you were a girl. Do the priests know?"

Setareh nodded sternly, "Of course they know. But they don't reveal my gender, at my request. However, they've never said I am _not_ a guy. They avoid using gender pronouns as much as much as possible. People simply see me as a guy, and they believe I am one."

I thought back to the recent conversations, and I could see Gatalas was doing that, too. "You're right," he said, "They've never referred to you as a guy- or a girl. Just always called you 'young 'un' or 'priest.' Granted, I have not been around a lot to hear conversations, but it seems to be true. Everyone sees you as a man just because you dress like one."

"I also look like one, too." Setareh stretched her legs out, easing muscles that had been tightened from hours in the saddle, "I have to admit, I am one of those girls that always looked more like a boy than a girl- and I'd wager my first apprentice hammer I'd look hideous in a women's kaftan and saravara. Or, at least, out of place." She stretched her back and arms, "And I think the fact I looked so much like a boy saved my life."

Gatalas' eyebrows quirked up as he took this in, "How? In what way? Broomheads? You probably would have been very young at the time of the Crossing."

The smith-girl shook her head, "Not that young. I was twelve. And very much established as a boy. It was not caused by the Broomheads, but it was related to it. I am from the Iazyges tribe, like you, but my Scepter Holder was Mauakes."

"THE Mauakes. Mad Mauakes ," Gatalas breathed in with sympathy, "The legendary Lost Tribe."

"Aww, that sounds _so_ dramatic! If I had my sitar, I would have inserted in an ominous bar of chords. Not _that_ legendary. More infamous," Setareh scoffed, "We're only lost because Mauakes destroyed us as a people. Most of us survived, but we blended and worked ourselves into other caravans and Scepter Holder allegiances. But we are no longer a People, like you know yourself as one of Banadaspos' Raging Roughnecks."

She pulled up her sleeve to show a thin arm unmarked by any tattoo. Gatalas had pulled up his own sleekly muscled right arm, and his displayed a proud blue tattoo. It was the tamga mark of Banadaspos: a circle mounted on three columns with a crossbar. Curved "horns" came from the circle's top and from the left and right columns. It was supposed to resemble a Boneknapper, but I thought a Firemaker would have to drink quite a few bowls of fermented beverages to make _that_ connection.

Gatalas had gotten the marking at his manhood ceremony, one that coincided with him completing the Dragon Unit training, when he swore his allegiance to Banadaspos.

"I have not chosen an allegiance yet," Setareh said softly, "I am still a journeyman smith, gaining experience with your caravan, but I also do travel to other Iazyges and Roxalani caravans and do commissions. It's part of the journeyman task since we then learn new styles and techniques from the caravans we visit. When I become a Master Smith, then I can settle with one caravan"

_::That explains why we haven't seen much of her during our return trips at the caravan::_ I told Gatalas.

A smooth, scaly warmth encircled my left leg. Lux had curled himself around my hoof, now wrapping his segmented tail up and up and up my leg until my leg looked like multiple olive-brown bracelets covered it.

_::Just stretching my tail out a bit, if you don't mind getting a few extra 'stripes' on your legs::_ Lux said, _::Oooh, that campfire feels so nice and warm.::_

"I rather like the wandering," Setareh continued, "It's interesting how different caravans have different techniques, especially those who were closer to the borders with settled folk. We have our own Sarmatian style, but we've picked up influences from the Greeks and Parthians and the Khazars and the Seljurks." She smiled, and her fierce, almond-shaped blue eyes softened for a moment, "I sometimes wish I could even spend some time among settled smiths, like the ones in the Greek speaking lands. Their animal form designs are amazing in detail. And the way they portray us Sarmatians in their art, it's like we are reflected as miniature bronze figures. But, for sure, I would have to remain a boy for that."

Gatalas grinned, finding her enthusiasm contagious,"And, I am sure, you would also have many opportunities to, I dunno, blow things up along the way?"

Setareh's face turned red and she laughed, "Well, of course! A girl has to have a few hobbies. Actually, explosives was one of the things we priests were taught in our 'training.' That's the training involving medicines and weapons and such- the 'out of place' things you have noticed. My favorite was a fellow from the Eastern Lands, a man of Xin, I think. He taught us about fireworks and how light weapons could be used as a tactical way to distract an enemy."

_::So, _that's _where the little priest-Monster got the idea!::_ Lux tilted his ears back, the ragged right ear's tattered shreds shaking with the motion, _::Well, it certainly did not work on me.::_

Lux was still not able to understand Sarmatian, so I had been giving him a running translation, supplemented by observations and corrections from Ravenwing. Earlier in the trip, Ravenwing had asked Lux to open his mind to him, so the two could converse with each other. The black gelding was quite a surprise to me: a hard-boiled warhorse-mercenary soldier personality with a definite taste for fermented beverages and "dirty old man" comments. It was amusing to think that he would have bonded with a scrawny, geeky artisan, and a priest at that! But I guessed that an impetuous inventor type would need a more protective, guardian, especially if Setareh planned to be journeying so much learn her trade. And maybe Setareh's enthusiasm and curiosity brought some bouncy sparkles to Ravenwing's sardonic world view.

Gatalas nodded and leaned over to pour the last of the soup into his and the smith's camp cups, "We should finish this. It's important to keep our load light if we want to make good time."

He drank some of the soup, :_:Very nice oxtail soup, Horsebutt. It's a pity you don't like soup. The combination of the vegetables and herbs and barley is good.::_

I snorted, _::Ruined by all that nasty meat broth. You can have it, FIremaker. I still think it's a waste of good vegetables. But I _will_ have some more of that bread, thank you!::_

Lux chuckled at my vehemence, punching the air with his bouncy squeaks of draconic laughter.

I was soon munching on rye bread, and it was my turn to chuckle when Lux tried some and hissed it at. ::_Disgusting stuff. Monsters are so weird.::_

Gatalas continued, "Setareh, you still have not said why you became a boy in the first place. I assume Mauakes had something to do with it."

Setareh wiped her mouth, boy-like, with her hand, "Mmm hmm. Yes. My father had to do it to protect me. Mauakes had some odd notions about women- in many ways, he was more like settled folk than a Sarmatian. I think the fact our caravan had penetrated far into settled lands during our raids had a lot to do with it. But he had some strange notion that being our Scepter Holder meant he got to... ummm... 'break in' the young ladies, as it were before they were eligible for marriage. He also believed that our virgin blood would help help him hold back old age symptoms, so he often would blood let young girls. Then he'd drink their blood mixed with some other vile substances. He wasn't careful about it, so many little girls did not survive the bloodletting. Or else they did not survive the infection they got afterwards. He wasn't the Madman for nothing."

Gatalas shook his head. There was no sense in asking why the people stayed with their mad Scepter Holder. Mauakes _was_ mad, but he also was one of the most successful raiders among the Sarmatians, amassing great wealth from the Broomhead lands his Dragon unit plundered. Many Scepter Holders envied his success in raids. His name was spoken with both admiration and horror.

Being Sarmatians, Satareh's people had honor. They would stick with their prince to keep to the vows they had made before he had succumbed to his mental illness. They would be seen as liars and untrustworthy if they abandoned their Scepter Holder.

My Firemaker peoples' simple and fierce honor is their greatest virtue… and their worst downfall.

"But you did have some defenses, I guess. Like becoming a boy instead of a girl." Gatalas finally said, running his hands over the rim of his cup as he spoke.

"I was 'lucky' enough to be born after Mauakes lost it. So, when my parents saw I was a girl, they realized I had a chance that girls born before did not have. They had the midwife announce I was a boy and they started dressing me and treating me as one. So, I grew up always being a boy," Setareh chuckled with irony, "It was amazing how many more boys than girls were born in my caravan after Mauakes went mad."

"I'm surprised the priests put up with it."

"There were no priests. Mauakes styled himself as both military leader and divine leader. Pity he was good only at one of those things," the girl sighed, "Over the years, some of the village 'boys' were found out, especially as they started showing female figures. Some of them survived the bloodletting and the initiations. If you call it surviving.

"I was lucky enough that I look very much like a boy, and that meant being flat in the right places, so I was never found out. But it was pretty confusing for me. I knew something was strange when my parents never allowed me to run naked like some of the kids did in the high summer. I could see I was not a boy from looking at the naked boys. My parents thoroughly drilled it into me – well, more like scared the stuffing out of me- that horrible things would happen to me if I ever revealed I was a girl. I obeyed out of fear, but when I first saw what happened to a girl who had not been disguised as a boy, that helped me keep my mouth shut. Poor thing never spoke again. Period. Until she died from childbirth complications."

I heard a rustling and Kourosh was suddenly by his mistress' side, nosing at her arm. The girl slid her hand under the dog's jaw and scratched him gently. She laid her head against his, whispering something to him too soft to hear. I got the impression the dog had picked up on his owner's feelings and wanted to offer comfort.

Then Setareh continued, "Things eventually came to a head. By this time, our wanderings had taken us into the boundaries where steppe meets forests. Our caravan had roamed quite far to the east and north of most Iazyges territory."

"You know, already, our caravan roamed near the borders of Panonia" Gatalas said, "Northeast of that, I guess, would put you square in the Baltic lands. It's pretty amazing how far our people have wandered."

"Yup, the good old Sarmatian shuffle. We're surrounded by long grass, but we don't let it grow under our feet. I guess I'm a Baltic Sarmatian. There were lots of trees bordering our range, and that's the problem. Lots of trees means lots of amber. And the Broomheads love amber. Add to it that Mauakes loved Broomhead wealth. He discovered a quick way to get Broomhead wealth was to trade with them, using amber."

"Nothing wrong with that. We trade today. It's preferable to raiding, especially since we gave that up when we surrendered to the Broomheads," Gatalas shrugged, but I could sense him waiting for the other boot to drop.

"I know, but the point is Mauakes sold out on us. He expected us to give up our wandering ways and become amber harvesters, to leave the steppes and live in the forests. To become... settlers."

"No...," Gatalas did gasp now, "That's like asking us to kill ourselves!"

Setareh's eyes glinted with anger, "We knew, then, that Mauakes had been seduced by Broomhead easy wealth. He was only seeing the gold and jewels and grains. And, no doubt, access to Roman courtesans. Otherwise, no sane Sarmatian would have suggested we abandon our way of life."

She sighed. Above us, a hawk called, its voice floating down to us. I felt a twinge of worry for Skuda and Skull-Striker, her gelding, and I hoped they were well.

"So, when we refused, the Broomhead leader intended to gai our cooperation by taking all of the Sarmatian women and daughters hostage. The men would only get them back if we submitted and collected amber. It had worked for other peoples the Broomheads and conquered in the past. They did not know yet how a Sarmatian woman is not easy to take down. So, it came down to brutal invasions and warfare, our people against the Broomheads. One dawn, just after the Suntide feast when we were off guard, the Broomheads encircled our wagons and swept down. Unfortunately, they happened to be one of the few Broomhead units that had a decent cavalry.

"They only won because we were not able to get to our Turkmenes on time. It was a tragedy that day that the bonded Turkmenes were allowed to graze in the western field. We Sarmatians are great at invading and raiding on horseback, but not so great when we are surrounded and cut off from our horses. I only survived because my father got the other younglings and I to hide. Oh- Gatalas, your hands are trembling. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Gatalas said abruptly. Too abruptly, "Please, Setareh... go on."

_::Rider. I'm worried about you.::_

_::It's okay, Horsebutt. I'll be fine.::_

I lowered my head and nickered sadly. Gatalas knew all about Broomhead invasions. He was a survivor of the Thundering Victory, the ironic battle where nature gave the advantage to the tactically inferior, foot soldier Broomheads. The Sarmatians had lost their wandering lifestyle in Panonia on that day. And a young teenage boy had lost his family.

And, I was now sure, his eyesight. As I suspected, "It" had not been during enemy tribal raid. "It "had been during the Thundering Victory battle.

Setareh had reached out a hand to put over Gatalas', and he pulled it back.

Surprise on her face, she dropped her hand and continued, hesitantly, "Our Scepter Prince was killed in that struggle, along with most of us. As a people, our caravan was gone. When we children all met the surviving adults together at the spot we had been taught to flee to during danger, I discovered my parents had not survived. Only one of my brothers and I had lived.

"Luckily an aunt and uncle had made it out alive, and they took us into their wagon. We traveled westward and, eventually, found patronage with a Panonian-lands caravan from the Iazyges tribe. We were lucky enough not to be discovered by the Broomheads during the Thundering Victory."

Gatalas could only nod, "That's a blessing." His voice was curdled into a lower pitch, saturated with bad memories, "You'd been through enough already, I think."

"But Banadaspos' caravan was discovered by Broomheads, I know this." Setareh's voice took on a gentler tone, "The Broomheads went ill with your people. Very ill. They even burned the dead- damning the souls to the Lie's Underworld. At least we got to bury our dead."

"_Bale_, you are right. And I hope Marha understood we did not mean to desecrate him by burning our dead. The Broomheads burned them t-to insult us. I don't want to speak of it, please." Gatalas looked away, but the lack of eyesight could not take away what was internal memory was playing in his mind, now.

"I-if you don't mind me asking, Gatalas," Setareh breathed, for the first time her voice sounding like a girl, a girl who was a warm and concerned friend, "Is that where you.. you... lost your eyesight?"

Gatalas stiffened with uncharacteristic coldness, "I _said_ I did not want to talk about. Leave it at that, priest."

His voice was suddenly quite scary.

Setareh bit her lip, "_Bebakhshid_, Gatalas. I am sorry. I should have heard your request the first time. I'm bad that way... I often don't think things through. Well, you've seen _that _already."

Gatalas lowered his head and clenched a hand. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

Finally he could speak again, "Consider it forgotten. I've been guilty of that problem myself. It's a part of growing up." He raised his head and looked skyward with his unseeing eyes, "We have a mission to go on, and a possible dragon attack tonight to avoid. I don't need distractions like this, lad- I mean, lady. I don't think well when I think about That Day."

Setareh nodded, "I'll remember that."

"But you still have a tale to tell, I think. I can hear it in your voice. Continue, please." Gatalas said, his voice still ragged. But he gave a friendly gesture for the priest to continue.

Setareh did so, her rich contralto voice pulling us back into her past, "My new caravan- like yours- was one of the few chosen by the Broomhead Priests- the embedded timeline guard priests- to make the Crossing to this timeline. I just was so used to being a boy by this time, that I kept on looking like one. My family was used to thinking of me as one, too. And there was some deep part of me that was terrified something awful would happen to me if I showed I was a girl. It took me a long time to understand most Sarmatians were not like Mad Mauakes, that we hold women in high respect. Sadly, the fear kept me from getting too close to people, scared I would reveal myself and get hurt. I was lucky I had my two best friends to keep me from getting too lonely."

She hugged Kourosh, "He was still just a pup when my dad told him to watch over me on the day of the raid. And he never has stopped watching over me. And dear Ravenwing- I never thought I'd be so lucky to bond with a Turkmene."

The black Turkmene whinnied back at her, ears up in contentment, _::Same here, Rider. You're a strange little monkey face, but normal is boring!::_

Lux trilled a purr, reacting to Ravenwing's thoughts. The dragon kitten seemed to be in awe of Ravenwing's gruff but deeply affectionate attitude

Setareh continued, "About two years after the Crossing, I came down with the Wasting Fever. You must remember: it was a hard summer on the Eastern steppes. More Gatecrashers than usual, but also rainier and marshier. It was easier to get diseases. My aunt and uncle said I came close to dying. There is no real cure for the Wasting Disease. It just has to run its course. The only treatments were plenty of liquids to hold off dehydration and medicines to keep my fever down.

"My aunt and uncle were so desperate that they prayed to Marha to spare my life, promising they would dedicate my life to the priesthood if I survived."

Gatalas quirked a brow up cynically. I breathed in relief that my Rider was getting his composure back, "Such bargains rarely have a good ending. There are plenty of stories about that. A military general promises the gods to sacrifice the first thing he sees when he comes up if he wins the battle. He wins the battle in an impressive victory. The first thing he sees is his baby daughter toddling through the house gates to meet him."

"_My_ story's ending was happier. I found my destiny," Setareh sighed, "I did get better. And then, without any precedent, I started showing an interest in the smith fine-piece work and the designs of the Draco standards and the armor. I never had any interest or talent in it before; I just had been content to serve my time at the bellows. That, to my aunt and uncle and the caravan priests, seemed a sign Marha had marked he wanted me to be a Forge Priest. So, that is the path I took. Now I have friends I did not have before among the priests. I'm part of a team, one crazy family of good- hearted weirdos." She sighed happily, "It also meant I got "marked" to share some of the timeline secrets. So, like the other priests, we wound up getting "educated" in special techniques by wandering 'merchants'- or at least they appeared that way to outsiders- who would come to stay a few days in our caravan.

"You can take of it as you will. Some latent talent that just came out at the right time, possibly triggered by the fever... or that Marha had actually intervened and accepted the bargain. That's for you to judge."

She reached up to undo the leather bandana and take it off her head, shaking her hair free, "I still have the signs of the sickness. Just like anyone who recovers from the Wasting Sickness, it leaves its marks. I never gained back the weight I lost, and I had been slender to begin with. My hair had to be chopped off because of the fever. It never grew back the same as it was before."

Her hair was very short and choppy: thick in some areas, fine in some areas. But the color was beautiful. She was one of those "cool" redheads; such hair had almost bluish undertones, a color that made me think both how both fire and ice could burn. Such redheads almost always had scorching blue eyes, as opposed to the softer blue, grey, brown, hazel or green you would see on "warm" redheads. Setareh's coloring was not rare among Sarmatians- in fact, more of them had the cool red than the warm red hair. But it was still very striking to see.

"My hair used to be very long, but since it was very curly, it looked shorter than it actually was. But, after the fever, it grew back straight and more uneven. Being a blacksmith, it's not wise to let it grow long, anyway."

She ran a disparaging hand through her hair, "Well, shall we move onwards?"

She stood up and dusted her hands off, then starting putting the fire out, after a quick thank you song to Marha for his loan of the fire, making sure to cover it well.

I nickered so Gatalas knew where I was, and within moments he was at my side, slipping the saddle back on to me. I shrugged into it, helping him with the process. I kept an eye tilted back at him as little Lux unwound his tail from my leg and uncurled himself, yawning mightily.

I hated to see Gatalas so upset when he remembered his past, and yet he never wanted to talk about it. I really hoped he would one day confront it.

* * *

Smells of river water infiltrated my nostrils: the fresh scent of water, the iron smell of bogs, and the deeper, more primal scent of that slimy green stuff that floats on the skin of the water. And, lingering over it all, the delicious scents of fresh fish, teasing me.

I had encountered that fresh fish aroma when I sensed whitefish darting beneath on the River Rat/Monster's floating up-and-down water thing. Always smelling sweet, good fish in the water, but knowing I'd never get anything to eat unless it was putrid and wormy.

Water slapped against wood, and I closed my eyes, moaning, _::I don't wanna go. Don't do it, Eyeful. Please! Don't make me go on that wooden thing on the water. These things are bad!::_

I heard hooves ringing against wood and the shifting of the basket as Eyeful moved, _::Hush, Lux. You don't have any say in this. We have to go across the river to join the troops. This will only take a few minutes, and no one will hurt you. I've done this before, and I am still alive.::_

_::That was just luck you survived. One day it'll catch up with you, Eyeful! Mark my thoughts!::_ I put my good right paw over my closed eyes, foolishly thinking it could stop the motion, _::Nooooo! Stop, please! Bad things happen on floating wooden things. They are prisons. Monsters will find me and torture me again. They'll torture you...::_

A mental laugh pushed against my mind_, ::Really, well it's too late now, kitten. We're on the river. And, so far, nothing fatal yet.::_

I now felt the slight heaving I had only known too well in my life. I moaned low and deep, feeling my gorge rise, fighting the urge to vomit and void my bowels.

_::Turn over on your back, Lux. Look up, there's something interesting.::_ Eyeful's thought-voice was sandy and rough- a tough warrior's voice, but there was a soothing undertone that made me shift myself until so I was still coiled in the basket, but now lying on my back.

Oh. How strange.

A woven hemp vine seemed to stretch horizontally across the sky- was it flying? Above the hemp vine, I saw the white and black shapes of sea birds soaring and ducking, calling in their mewling voice. I knew they birds well. What were _they_ doing near a river?

I must have inadvertently let my thoughts be heard, for Eyeful answered me.

:_:They live near a watery steppe called an oh-shun. And they come to this river by riding on and following the floating wagons coming from the oh-shun water-steppes. They like to follow them for the scraps of fish the Firemakers throw in the water,:: _ Eyeful explained,_ ::Some Firemakers call these birds 'rats with wings,' but even if they like to eat scraps and carrion, I still like hearing their calls. Most Firemakers call them 'sea mews'::_

The hemp vine seemed to want to fly, but all it could do was move up and down. Then I realized that something of iron- a sun shaped object- was resting on top of the rope. it rolled along the vine top in a way I found strangely soothing.

_::We are riding on a raft- ferry, Lux. It's not at all like your River Rat's floating animal head wagon. It's made to help Firemakers cross the river. The water in this area is too deep to swim, but still it is too shallow for a floating wagon, so the Firemakers built this instead. It's a flat "ground" made of several trees tied together. We Turkmenes stand on it, along with our Riders and Kourosh.::_

_::But where are the woven hides that catch the wind?:: _I asked, now fascinated by the bobbing iron disc that rolled on the bobbing hemp vine.

_::It does not need wind hides. What you see above us is moving the ferry. The rope- that's the thing that looks like a thick vine- and the pulley- that's the iron disc- they are moving our flat ground of logs along the top of the water. There is a Firemaker who is causing this to happen by pulling on a very heavy rope. The beauty is that it with that rope and pulley, he can move two horses and a human and a dog, but he does not feel our weight. The rope and pulley take the weight. ::_

_::You seem awfully interested in this, Eyeful:: _I said, realizing I, also, had become awfully interested in it.

_::Firemakers can create some amazing things. They create horrible, terrifying things, but this is one of their amazing things. I like to figure out how they do it. It's just who I am:: _ Eyeful snorted and shook her head, the funny wooden and green scaly things on her chest harness clunking in a cheerful way , ::_I admit it's weird for a Turkmene, but I've always been interested in how these things work. I even try to guess how I would create something for the same purpose, but my ideas would never be as innovative as what FIremakers can make. Some of the other Turkmenes like to joke that if I were a Firemaker, I'd probably haven been a forge priest.::_

I took this in and continued to watch the sky and the rope and the pulley. I watched the_ sea mews_ calling and soaring, and I thrilled in the thought that one day I might be there dancing with them.

I could even see the sun, now starting to move to the opposite of the sky. It seems to come up on one side of the sky and then go down on the other. I wonder what it does under the ground as it moves back to the first side to start the new day? Does it roll along the underground like a big ball. Do the worms and badgers and pole cats have to dodge out of its way as it rolls? Is there a whole world like this one, but underground, and the sun lights that world while our world is dark?

Suddenly there was a pitch and toss and Eyeful thought-sent _::We're coming to shore now. See? I told you it would be a short ride. Nothing would happen.::_

I sighed in relief, joy flashing through me. We had survived this! I had been on the water and no one had beaten me or hurt me. In fact, it had been strangely peaceful, and Eyeful had taught me some interesting things about how you could use rope and an iron sun-disc and logs to cross a river!

It had actually, even, been... fun! Again, it seems to be that it was the Monsters who made floating on the water into a nightmare. In and of itself, floating on the water could be something wonderful.

:_:Will we get to do this again?:: _I found myself asking. _::Wait, I have an idea! Can you ask the Firemakers to take us on the raft-ferry back to the other side? And then we can come back here again, so everything would be fine again. ::_

Clever me! That would give us two extra trips on this wonderful ferry.

Eyeful was laughing to herself at my comments as her Firemaker-Monster adjusted the leather bands around her body, _::You just wish, Lux. Did you forget we are on a mission? Now brace yourself, kiddo, because we are going to do some serious hot footing!.::_

The skinny little Firemaker who had exchanged the leather hide on his head for some nice looking fiery-red fur now gave a burly Firemaker a pawful of flat reddish-gold pebbles. The burly Firemaker in brown hides tossed the pebbles in his paw. He started to eat one of them, but then took it out of his mouth. He nodded and made that grimace I have come to know means Firemakers are happy in a way that won't result in a punch or a kick to me. It is a nice grimace. Not like the grimace the River Rat Firemakers made around me.

So, I guess, when a Firemaker-Monster (who is a good Firemaker Monster, not a River Rat) likes what another good Firemaker-Monster does, he gives him a some flat reddish-gold pebbles to show he is pleased.

Very strange. I, myself, thought giving away some freshly caught fish would be a much more appreciative gesture.

And then we, indeed, did fly! The Turkmenes skimmed over the ground. It was fun for a while, and then it became intense, as I realized this was not about pure speed and the joy of flight but about getting as far ahead as possible. The smooth gait became rougher and bouncier, but still even faster. It was not the most comfortable of Eyeful's gaits, and it made my left front leg ache a bit. I let myself drop back into the basket and was grateful it was well padded on the floor so my left leg could rest comfortably.

I spent the next while working on my roaring, focusing on the breathing exercises the black Lightning Person had taught me.

That kept me busy. I felt my ribs aching with the work, but I began to hear the pathetic squeaking start to sound a little raspier.

Now it was scratchy squeaking! Still pathetic, but I think it was an improvement.

I hoped so, anyway.

The sky I saw through the basket opening was now becoming a deep purple-blue, streaks of red clouds running across it.

The Firemaker- Monsters were talking to each other, calling out in their sounds that were so very different from the ones the River Rats used. The River Rats had a rough, sing-song, growling voice. These Firemakers spoke further back in their throats, and there were some growling sounds, but overall it was a strangely liquid sound, one that flowed in an interesting way. I had come to pick up River Rat/Monster speech pretty well. These Firemakers still eluded me. I understood them only by what Eyeful translated for me.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I poked my head and front legs out of the basket, bracing against the wild galloping.

Eyeful, mercifully, was slowing down, easing into that pleasant, smoothly moving gait she called a "traht." She had let me know in most horses it was bouncy, but in her kind it was a smooth, sliding stride. It was something to do with how her Tribe had originated in the rocky and sandy deserts in the lands where the sun emerges from underground each dawn.

Ravenwing, the utterly cool, macho Turkmene with the blue-black coloring that oddly resembled my dreampath LIghtning Person's was now striding next to her. I liked the way the two of them could make a neat rhythm with their hooves, each perfectly matching the other.

And Kourosh, the smaller, lean creature with the silky ears and tail, strode next to them, matching their gait. He was so quiet, and yet I got the impression he was a nice creature and would not hurt me. Eyeful had told me he was a 'sight hound'- a canine creature who hunts by tracking the movement of prey, just as some dragons do. This means they have to move fast, so they are built smooth and slender, just as Eyeful and Kourosh are.

The terrain in front of us was changing. I could see the flat lands with ragged patches of trees. They were sloping gradually into a region of rocks and hills cradling a branch that split off from the _Danu Apara_ river we had just crossed. It was a formation called a _gorge_. The rocks that sloped into the gorge made a steep path, one that looked quite spooky.

It was then I heard the strange striking, pulsing sound. It was a THWAK-tunk! THWAK-tunk! THWAK-tunk! sound.

It was approaching us, coming closer and closer.

_::What is it?::_ I asked Eyeful, who was taking it all in with a calm demeanor. I knew, then, that this was a safe THWAK-tunk sound.

_::It's what the Firemakers call a walking drum:: _She answered me, and from her mind I got the image of the drum: a wooden container with skins on the top.

It was lighter and plainer than the drums that the River Rat monsters used to play when they were trying to hang me. The sound this one made was not ominous. Its "voice" was lighter, somehow more cheerful. And it seemed to grab something deep in me, pulling me into a rhythm.

Instead of cringing, I found myself swaying my head and neck in time to the walking drum.

I rather liked it.

_::My Rider and I lead a lot of caravans of traders across the steppes of our home::_ Eyeful explained as she strode along, taking us deeper into the gorge, _::Many of them rely on a walking drum. It helps the Firemakers to keep pace. Some Firemakers walk. Some ride on horses, rather inferior versions of me, I must add. Some use wagons like our caravan wagons, pulled by thick-bodied horses or oxen. Some ride on wondrous, yet supremely ugly beasts who have hump-mounds on their backs. That means a lot of living critters moving at all different paces. It could make traveling pretty crazy. The walking drum is played by a Firemaker on horseback at the front of the line. It sets the pace. All the others in the caravan match it so they all move together and make good time. Ahh, there they are, Lux!::_

I leaned as far out of the basket as I could and still be safe. If I fell, it would be a long way down. And forget about being able to stop my fall with my wings!

We were still high up on the rim of the bluffed gorge. Bare rocks sloped down to a valley where the grass still seemed to be greener than up at this height. The small river channel wound through the gorge. (I had not known these words before, but now I did! More words for concepts seemed to keep springing into my mind each day, as if some long sleeping thoughts were finally awakening!)

The gorge eventually opened up onto rolling plains in sundown direction we were heading. Far in the distance were green mountains.

The ground seemed to ripple, and on the plains I saw a colorful flock of Firemakers and other creatures marching from those plains towards the gorge, following the river.

One Firemaker with leather colored skin rode at the beginning on a dark brown horse, one heavier boned and longer haired than the Turkmenes, and this Firemaker was the one playing the drum. He was accompanied by a hooded Firemaker riding a small, white, gazelle-like horse with incredibly long hair coming from its neck and tail. The hooded Firemaker was holding a very nasty looking spear,

The others moved behind them in a line. On each corner of the flock were other fierce looking Firemakers on horses, holding weapons similar to what Eyeful's Firemaker carries.

Of course, having been a guest of the River Rats, I knew very well what each of those weapons was- and more ways to use each one than I could count on my claws. After all, I'd been very carefully shown each method, and I had the scars to prove it.

I was guessing these armed and mounted Firemakers were some sort of guard for the caravan.

The Firemakers wore coverings in many styles and colors. I had no idea some of those colors even existed until I saw them. There were even some wearing so many colors they made me think of a … (the word dropped into my mind) of... a- a _rainbow!_

Some strips of colorful cloth with patterns also seem to be draped from wagons or poles, though I could not see the reason for that. Maybe some way to indicate a Firemakers' position in the line?

Our two Firemakers seemed pleased to see the procession. They chatted with each other, and Eyeful's Firemaker pointed towards some rock overhangs that seemed to make a good sized shelter. Kourosh started to bark, but the red –furred Firemaker spoke a calm word at him, and the dog silenced.

We continued to climb down the rocky trail to the bottom of the canyon. Eyeful had me slide back in to the basket and lean backwards as far as I could. I sat up on my back legs and tail, bracing against the back wall of the basket, but I managed to poke enough of my head upward to enjoy the sky view.

Apparently leaning back helped Eyeful keep her balance on the slope. Her Firemaker was doing the same thing.

I now started to smell the caravan: dust, Firemaker sweat, horses, oxen, dogs (I'm learning so many concepts from Eyeful and Ravenwing!) And lots of aromas and scents, pungent and sweet, that seemed to come from dried plants.

And also I smelled live food animals: chickens, a few sheep and goats. But nowhere near as many as what Ravenwing's and Eyeful's Firemakers had with their caravan. I asked Eyeful why.

_::These are traders. They have to move long distances each day. Herding animals would take too long. Most of them, actually, rely on dried stores and game rather than flocks.::_ the Turkmene snorted, _::It's not a good idea, overall, to have live flocks with a party this small. It attracts raiders.::_

The horses paused for breath on a flat ledge, their breath beginning to steam in the cooling dusk air. We were now very close, just one more hairpin descent and we would be at the bottom. We still had a good overview of the sky beyond the canyon. I took the opportunity to poke my head and front legs out of the basket.

_::They're coming from the north, probably heading south to the Caucasus or the Crimean to overwinter. Maybe they are seeking shelter in the gorge for the same reason we are:: _Ravenwing said, his thought voice gruffer than Eyeful's,:_: Unless they've just been dumb-lucky Firemakers. .::_

The tough, lean gelding tilted his ears back, :_:Hah! I can sense _them_. They're coming.:_:

_::Who's coming?::_ I was getting eager, my heart starting to beat faster. This day had been so full of amazing surprises. I couldn't wait for the next one!

And then I saw a beautiful flower of fire bloom in the sky, and I breathed in joy. This, truly, was amazing!

Another fire- flower, one more purply in color bloomed below the first.

_::Oh, it's lovely.::_

My companions did not seem to think the same thing.

Both horses stiffened, and I heard Ravenwing draw his breath in with a powerful snort. He thought-sent a word that made me bush around my face sensors.

Kourosh let out a throbbing, ominous growl.

I heard one of the Firemakers say something that sounded like, _"Negeh kon!"_

The other one growled, _"Chi? Koja? Ha-le! __Ejdehar__!"_

The Turkmenes began to move again, this time picking up speed as they descended the hill. I felt the pull of gravity, even with leaning backwards. This was too fast! Eyeful was going to trip and fall! I whimpered.

But nothing happened. It was not comfortable, but she got us down the hill without incident. As we reached the bottom, I felt her haunches bunch, and she exploded into a powerful jump that shot her off the hill path and onto the flat river valley floor.

Then the air was loud with thundering hooves as Eyeful peeled off into the fastest gallop I had felt on her yet.

I heard Ravenwing running behind me, and the voices of the riders hovering over the pounding hooves. They were yelling, screaming even, as they ran towards the approaching caravan. The red furred one even lifted his arms and waved them over his head, using only his legs and feet to stay stay on board Ravenwing.

They seemed to have switched to a different language now, one that seemed choppier, less liquid, and yet full of simple power.

Kourosh's barking became fainter and fainter as the horses outstripped him.

_::Eyeful? W-what's going on?:_:

She did not answer, obviously focusing on getting her Firemaker over to the caravan. I knew I was not helping things, so I kept my muzzle shut.

Then I saw movement among the ever increasing fire-flowers in the sky, sinuous and snakelike forms rippling among the blooms.

A winged creature swooped down, powerful, scaled, purple-gold-green-blue... and amazing. Spines erupted along its neck and down to its tail. I could only catch glimpses of it since Eyeful's galloping was so bumpy that it bounced me about and blurred my view.

But one thing I could say: next to the black dragon, it was most the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

It was gliding down sailing into the canyon in our direction, coasting behind us. Its beautifully patterned wings stretched out. Even in the twilight, they seemed to sparkle with color.

Scales. Wings. Breathing fire. I put together the facts the black Lightning Breather had told me.

And then I realized it was a dragon!

Like me!

I was seeing my first dragon in real life!

I roared (well, squeaked) in joy and turned myself to face completely backwards. I flung myself up higher in my basket, the wind from Eyeful's speed pushing my ear sensors forward so they almost covered my eyes

_::I am here! I'm a dragon, too! Hello! Hello! Greetings!::_

The dragon cocked its head, hearing my thought voice and then angled towards us. It had heard us and wanted to talk to us! Lovely!

_::Talk to me! Oh, you are beautiful! We are here and ...::_

_::...And, holy crud, we're dead!:: _Eyeful snarled, :_:Hang on, Rider! Hang on, Lux. This is NOT gonna be pretty!::_

Eyeful must have spun on her hind legs because she suddenly whipped hard to the left, slamming me against that side of the basket. Her Rider grunted as he was thrown to the left, but he caught himself, cat-like, and then leaned into the turn with his mare.

Now Eyeful was galloping right under a bluff overhang.

_::Duck, RIder! Duck, Lux!::_

We both did, but I still heard the bottom edge of the bluff scrape along the Firemaker's back and his grunt of pain. Then we shot out from under it, but not before I heard a loud THUD! I looked back to see the beautiful dragon had crashed into the overhang, unable to pull itself up quickly. It flew upwards, roaring in dizzy surprise and plummeted, slamming to the ground.

I barely saw it stand up again shaking its head in surprise.

Then we were exiting the gorge, now entering the plains where the caravan was.

_::It was just trying to say hello, Eyeful!:: _I yelled at her, _::Can't you understand? Why did you want to hurt it?::_

_::SILENCE LUX!::_ I had never heard the Turkmene's mind voice so sharp before, and I could not help let out a trill of surprised hurt.

Hadn't she told me her people were friends with dragons? Why were we running from them? Hurting them?

Most of the dragons seemed to be emerging from the west, the sunset direction. The colorful one that had flown into the gorge from the east was the odd dragon out.

Most of the dragons were still mass of wings and flower-flames against the sky. But, I swear I had never seen such lovely creatures. So many colors, so many sizes and shapes. So many colorful flower-bursts of fire against the darkening sky.

My People! They were coming to welcome us!

Was one of those a dragon who looked like me... a Smart Ass Dragon?

I clambered out of the basket, leaping to onto Eyeful's plunging back, balancing myself on the packs tied behind the saddle back. My stiff wings automatically flew open as far as they could, twinging in pain. They could not open all the way, but they still helped to balance me on the Turkmene's back, complementing my clawed feet as I clung to the packs.

:_:Lux! No! Get back in the basket! NOW!:: _Eyeful blasted me with an angry thought-command _:: THESE DRAGONS ARE NOT OUR FRIENDS!::_

I could not understand what she meant by that. Here they were, coming to greet us, making beautiful fire patterns in the sky.

How could they NOT be our friends? I had waited for years and years, suffered in misery at the hands of River Rats, never knowing who I was. Finally my People and my destiny were in front of me. I would _no_t let this opportunity burn into ashes!

So I roared with every bit of (uh, squeaky) power that I had, _::I am here, brothers and sisters! I am LUX! I am one of you! Welcome and greetings! I want to learn about you, to be a part of your tribes and your Peoples!::_

Someone heard my cry. Wings flapped in dignity, a heavy body swooped down and then I was scooped off of Eyeful's saddle packs by a dragon's claws. I wanted to trill in joy, but instead I screamed in pain.

The dragon's claws dug into me, pinning me into a cage of scales and bone and talons. Pain flared along my sides as I saw Eyeful's strong and capable back and her strange but kind Rider suddenly grow smaller and smaller beneath me. I was being lifted in the air. Flying!

It should have been amazing, but it hurt. This wasn't the way dragons should greet one another! The black dragon had been cynical, but he had never tried to hurt me!

:_:W-what are you doing to me?:: _I thought-sent as loud as I could, :_:You're hurting me! I come as a friend!::_

The clawed foot was a prison, I realized, when I looked up and saw a face of red and brown stripes and an angry golden eye, its pupil slitted, gazing back at me.

I may be a little kid of a dragon, but I still know what an angry, deadly eye looks like.

This dragon's eyes were even worse than the cruel eyes of the River Rats when they tortured me. It did not seem to be even fully aware of what it was doing.

This dragon's fierce eyes had no life behind them whatsoever. It did not even seem to notice my cries. Its eyes almost seemed as if invisible clouds had filled them, obscuring the dragon's view of me.

_::What's wrong with you!:: _I screamed at it, _::I'm one of you! Can't you see?::_

And then my memory stone picked up its thoughts, and my heart sank.

_::Food. Food. You are nothing but food. SHE wants food. Must feed HER. Must help THEM. Must feed HER. Must help THEM.::_

_::But I'm a DRAGON, s-s-scorch it! I'm one of you!::_

_::You look like a dragon, but you don't act like one. You are a freak. Nothing more than food. Unless you are Initiated, you are not a Real Dragon. You're nothing more than Food.:: _the dragon's claws gripped my sides harder,_ ::Accept your destiny, kitten. If you feed HER, you help THEM. You will have served a good purpose::_

I should have fallen into tears, and I admit, my eyes were burning with them. But I remembered the words of Eyeful's Rider: _I saw your life spark right away when we saw how you fought against your pain to fly away from the River Rats. We saw from your scars how you have bravely clung on through your suffering, fighting to stay alive. Your spark is very strong._

And so I hissed at the dragon and bit its scaled paw with my teeth. Hard.

I knew it would mean nothing to the dragon, but it meant everything to me!

Imagine my surprise, when there was a twang and a hiss, a thud, just as my teeth sunk into the dragon's paw a second time.

A roar of anger from the dragon. The world tilted as the dragon shifted its weight, reacting to the pain that came from a feathered stick now lodged in hits paw, just inches from my muzzle.

Below it I could see shaggy Eyeful, her equally shaggy rider holding a bow and pulling another arrow into it.

Another _twang-hiss-thud_! Another stick lodging in dragon's paw.

The red and brown-striped dragon roared and let go of me, pain warbling in its voice.

I found myself falling, cold air blasting up around me. I wanted to scream in fear, but instead I found myself laughing.

The dragon seemed to wobble and then plummet to the earth, its body shuddering. I stopped laughing.

Had those arrows been poisoned, like the strange powder that killed the Slithereen-maggot-thing?

T_hwap!_ Air and motion stilled, and I stopped moving as a warm gentle pressure folded around my upper body, stopping my fall on a soft surface.

Something grabbed my shoulders, encircled my upper body with a thud.

And then I was being held close against a Firemaker 's bony chest, a pale arm encircling me, embracing me against spicy-smelling Firemaker coverings. I looked up and saw the chin and face of the red-furred one. And I felt the warmth as blood ran down hide that had been punctured by that red and brown striped dragon's claws.

I then looked down and saw the blue-black shoulders of a horse plunging beneath me and dirt clods flying up towards me, churned by hooves. I heard Ravenwing's voice, _::Hold on, dragon! Hold on! We are placing wards! Just remain still and let us do our work!::_

I heard the red-furred one yelling something that did, indeed, sound like "Wards!"

I saw Eyeful, teeth bared, her strange, striped, red-yellow coat gleaming in the dying light, her rider leaning over her. The odd woven and beaded ties of his leather head covering flapped out to the sides like tentacles. The twisted-braided rope of his pale yellow hair flew behind him.

And I saw the various members of the caravan reacting as both Turkmenes galloped past the Firemakers, their Riders again yelling in that strange language. The words sounded like: "_Fuge! Fuge in valle! Festina! Dracones __oppugnabunt__!"_

It had a tone like they were begging the caravan people to run for their lives. I needed no translation for why they needed to run.

The Firemakers in the caravan yelled back words that sounded like: "_Illi sunt dracones? __Non! Nos interficient! Fugite, amici! Festinate!"_

It probably meant something like "No kidding, dudes! Deadly attacking dragons it is! Allrightie, then! Move it into the canyon, mates! Today would be nice!"

The caravan began to move faster, cries of Firemaker, horse, hound and herd animal rising in fear and intensity.

The four roughl-looking men on horses who guarded each corner of the caravan broke away and galloped toward Eyeful and Ravenwing, their riders shouting at the Sarmatians. They had all hefted their weapons at the ready : bows and spears and swords, showing they were ready to lend aid in the attack.

Eyeful's rider yelled back, one hand cupped around his mouth so his voice would carry, " _Nemo vincere draconem possum!_" _" _and he added, more solemnly but just as loudly, _"__Unicus draco vincere draconem possunt!__ Non dracones!"_

I guessed he was telling them it was useless fighting dragons. A no brainer: how could leather clad men on horses deal with large, scale-armored flying beasts that breathed fire?

_::That later statement is a stupidly charming proverb among our people::_ Ravenwing said in his sardonic way, _::'Only a dragon can defeat a dragon. And we're not dragons' . My, my, my Firemakers _are_ masters of the obvious.::_

The Firemaker holding me screamed out, _"Es nobis!"_

To me it sounded like he was asking for the four horsemen to help us. And several of them yelled something back that sounded like they took him up on that offer.

I watched as both the red furred Firemaker and Eyeful's rider reached into saddle bags and started tossing ordinary looking wooden stakes with strange runes carved on them towards the horsemen. Each horseman caught two stakes and listened to commands shouted by Eyeful's rider.

Then the horsemen galloped in different directions, heading to each side of the caravan: two behind it, and two well in front of it, just in front of the gorge entrance. Together, they formed each of the main directions.

Each rider pulled his horse to a halt and leapt off, the beast's leather mouth-rope now wound around an arm, keeping the horse still. It seemed to me their horses were awfully nervous and even fractious, not working with their riders like Eyeful and Ravenwing did. While their horses tossed their heads and pawed nervously, the riders summed their courage and jammed their two stakes into the ground- one next to the other. They then leapt back on their skittish horses and galloped back to the caravan, weapons again at the ready.

Meanwhile, my Firemakers were galloping behind the caravan, yelling out in that solemn language, urging the slower beasts of burden to hurry, I guess. Their efforts paid off as the Firemakers and animal began to move faster and faster to the canyon entrance.

Sheep and goats began to scatter in panic, and several Firemakers ran after them. Eyeful began to gallop on the fringes, urging the herd animals to move back in. Her rider had nocked a bow and was drawing it, offering cover for his horse as she herded sheep and goats.

I was very much admiring how he let her choose the path, trusting her judgment. It was so different from the other Firemakers on their horses, who had to both steer their horses with mouth ropes and manage their weapons.

A fawn blur streaked by and then Kourosh was there, barking, running, dodging. He took over from Eyeful, skillfully herding the sheep and goats into the canyon.

Amazingly, the creatures listened to the clever dog, letting him move them along as he ran at them, snapping and barking.

The sheep I was not surprised about. But the goats I was- I had seen enough in my time with the River Rats to know they are pretty stubborn creatures, but I guess they realized the dragons were up to no good, and it was time to finally be obedient... or be a dragon barbecue.

Two other dogs from the caravan joined him, following some sort of hierarchy as they all drove the small herd toward the protective gorge.

Eyeful and her Rider now rode back and forth at the end of the caravan as it made its way into the more protected gorge. Sweep to the left! Sweep to right! As the Turkmene ran, her rider fluidly moved with her, clinging to her only with his legs and his feet. The leather strips with the iron pedals seemed to help him stay on board.

Every once in a while he shot an arrow at a dragon, not to kill it but to knock it off balance. He also would whoop and howl like an angry wolf.

The loud noises seem to make the dragons lose their concentration and they would wobble.

The other Firemakers picked up on what Eyeful's howling archer was doing. Even while fleeing, they started to howl and yelp like wolves, and a few began banging on pots and pans.

I peered around the skinny red-furred Firemaker's chest to see that, in spite of our defensive maneuvers, the winged dragons were coming closer and closer, their blooms of fire lighting the now-dark sky.

The few who had swept in for attack so far had just been the fore runners, the scouts. The main welcoming (or kidnapping) party was on its way.

I now knew these dragons were not friends. They meant to grab and kill all of us on the ground. And I knew from that red and brown-striped dragon's glazed eyes and strange thought-speech that someone- or something- was making them act this way.

Their wing beats, once seeming primal and welcoming, now seemed threatening.

I found myself shivering a bit as I felt the red-furred Firemaker gently pull my claws loose from his coverings.

::_Help us out, Lux::_ Ravenwing sent to me, :_:My Rider needs both her hands for this. Yes- don't gape. Your jaw'll stick that way if someone hits you. She is a female.:: I_ heard equine laughter and gritted my fangs.

_::Just coil your tail around my neck and dig your claws onto my neck harness. It will keep you in place, little brother.::_

I did as he asked, twining my tail around his sleek blue- black neck and digging my claws of my three working feet into the leather harness on his shoulders. I felt the Firemaker lift his- or her- arm from me, but I remained securely bound to Ravenwing by my claws and tail.

_::That's it, kitten. You're doing fine! You may be small, but you have a lot of strength in your legs and tail. I can feel it!::_

_::T-thanks, Ravenwing.;:_

:_:Yehyehyeh. Whatever. You can pay me back with some beer down the road. I prefer honey brew. Now, just be calm, junior. My Rider is utterly insane, but I think she has a good idea in mind this time. I'd never admit it to her face., though. Thanks to you letting her arm go, she can try it.::_

:_:ooookayy:: _ I found my thought voice going all squeaky.

I heard rustling behind me as the red-furred Firemaker pulled open a saddle pack, and then a swishing sound as something was lifted from the pack. Then I felt the angles as Ravenwing shifted direction. My muscles moved with him, my body shifted to meet his shifts, and I realized I was getting used to moving with the Turkmene horses' movements. What should have been alien and evil was becoming second nature to me. It was like I was becoming a Rider, as much as the Firemakers were.

_::Now, kitten, this is going to be a hard turn. We're going into half circle mode. Brace yourself::_

A Firemaker grunt, and then gravity shifting as Ravenwing spun himself sharply around, turning around to face against the approaching dragons.

Again, I made the turn smoothly, draped across Ravenwing's shoulders, gripping onto his neck and chest harness by my tail and claws. It was if I had ridden on a Turkmene all my life. I purred in surprise that it had gone so smoothly.

_::And now for the Draco. This'll be nice. Enjoy the show, Lux::_

I looked up to see the red furred Firemaker was now holding a golden object high above his- no her- head, supporting it with both hands. Her legs and the iron strir-ups kept her glued to Ravenwing's back.

My view was awkward, but it looked like the object the Firemaker with the pale hide and red fur was holding above her head was a golden dragon head mounted on a platform. The dragon head was very lifelike, from its scales to its elongated, fanged head and long, floating ears, and the gold-wire tentacles that seemed to float below its muzzle.

Ravenwing came to a halt now, pawing the ground, but his rider remained in her position.

:_:Peace, Lux. Peace. Be calm. That is how you can help us. I'm going to rear. Just be ready to deal with the backward shift. You can do it. Your balance is very good, kitten.::_

I felt the world tilt backwards as Ravenwing reared, and I saw his powerful blue-black shoulders plunge as he flailed his front legs. His sparse mane blew back in my face and I snorted it out of my nostrils.

Behind me, I felt the red-furred Firemaker expertly angle her body forward to counterbalance Ravenwing's rearing.

The battle scarred gelding neighed in defiance.

:_:Yo dragons! You want a piece of me? I'm right here! Dinner on the hoof, medium rare and rearin' for a fight!::_

Ravenwing might be seen as skinny and wiry, but he was full of power, and I felt admiration for this slender horse who faced a pack of invading dragons with such attitude. His thought-voice spoke of his toughness and, from it, I knew this was a Turkmene you did not mess with unless you wanted a few scars on your hide and some cracked ribs on the side.

I saw the encroaching invaders coming closer, more fire-blooms lighting the sky.

And then something odd happened. I saw no bright flashing light or purple powder. I heard no clap of thunder. In fact I saw or heard nothing, but I felt a deep thrum, as though something was awakening from a long sleep. It shook along my hide and bones.

As a matter of fact, it was four thrums, coming from the four directions where the caravan guards has planted those sticks, those "wards."

The thrums seemed to run together into one huge THRUM, which happened to be right over the head of the metal dragon Ravenwing's rider held.

Again, there was nothing visible.

But there was plenty that was not visible.

I could feel those invisible pulses, feel them like a broad force that seemed to spread out from the metal dragon head, forming a broad band and then a broad shield. And then a broad wall, one that blocked us and the caravan and the gorge from the approaching dragons.

The dragons had reached us and then seemed to hit against a barricade, being scattered back from us as if they hit a wall.

:_:Ohhh. Yes!::_ Ravenwing snorted, :_: Can't you read the signs? This ain't a welcome mat, ya winged geckoes! In case you have a small reptilian brain, I'll translate. It says: 'No dragons allowed!' Here's a hint: that means you._ ::

He thumped back onto all fours, snorting as the invading dragons tried to attack again and were repelled by the strange shield. He whinnied and pawed the ground, and I found myself purring at his insane courage.

_::Really, can't you get the idea, dragons? We don't want to hurt you, even if you want to hurt us. Go home. Have some dragon beer - or fire wine- or carbonated lava or whatever you critters drink. Just leave us alone. We have nothing you want. Playtime is over. Go home, okay?::_

Instead, the dragons tried it a few more times, each time being thrown away by the strange Thrumming force field.

Eventually they got the message and turned around, heading back west, flying to the mountains in the distance.

The caravan had now escaped d into the gorge, fanning to find shelter under overhangs.

_::Now we will need to move the wards into the gorge and set them up to protect all of us from further attacks::_ Ravenwing said with a snort, _:: By the way, junior, good job back there. I'd swear you were born on a Turkmene. ::_

::_Th-thank you,::_ I said, making a little joke as an attempt to stop my shivering, _:: But I think I was born on a Tuesday, actually.::_

_::Work on the humor, dragon.::_

The next thing I knew, Eyeful was by our side, and the red headed Firemaker had lowered the metal dragon head back down in a solemn way.

_::Lux!:: _Eyeful called to me, _::You're okay, thank the Sky Lady! And you're a stupid, hoof-cankered stinking idiot! Can't you take our advice seriously?::_

I dropped my head, _::I didn't before, but now I know. I thought they would accept me as a friend once they saw I was a dragon, too, but that dragon almost killed me! He said I was not a real dragon. ::_

Caravan Firemakers were now coming over to us, cheering at us.

And Ravenwing, I swear, actually dropped into a bow.

The Firemakers called to us in joy.

"_Gratias vobis ago__, Vikinges!"_

"_Vikinges estis!"_

_::Heh!::_ Eyeful snorted_, ::_Again_, with the people thinking we're River Rats! What's up with these Firemakers? Not all that has blond hair is Viking! We're Sarmatians! Not River Rats on horseback!::_

I felt warm breath as Eyeful snorted over my back. I used that as a cue to jump from Ravenwing's shoulders, landing across Eyeful's more slender- but just as rugged- shoulders. I was only becoming aware of the itchiness and the blood still running- more slowly- from that dragon's claw-marks on my hide. They did not seem to be deep, thankfully.

_::I'm sorry. Eyeful::, _I told the scrappy war-mare regretfully::_The only dragon I have met is the black dragon, and he seemed so clear and fair minded. These dragons seem less aware, and they don't seem to like any of us. Me included, and I am a dragon! __Do dragon normally act this way- or is something making them act this way?.::_ I purred and rubbed my face against her neck, also catching her Rider's hand in the effort.

:_:Indeed, kid::_ she answered me bluntly, and I felt her Rider pat her neck, and then drop his arms around it to hug her.

Eyeful nickered and turned her head back around to touch my muzzle :_:That is why we are on this mission. Something is turning dragons into mindless enemies. We have to find out who is controlling them. _

_Before the dragons destroy us. ::_

I had my own worries. That big dragon had said I was not real dragon. Did I only just look like a dragon? If I was not a dragon, then what was I? And why did real dragons seem to hate me?

_

* * *

_

**A/N-** Hope you liked it and the build up of what kind of threat our heroes are facing. I want to make clear that this is not going to be a repeat of what Hiccup and Toothless faced- there will be some twists and complications here that are different- and our heroes have to deal with it in a different way. This chapter got into more Heinlein sci fi stuff, but I did not want it to get too "out there." I still always want to have a Medieval HTTYD theme in my stories, even if there are some funny timeline things going on in the background.

If all goes well, I will be back in Iceland and hopefully have some more time to update another chapter! Thanks, my friends, for being open minded to read my fanfictions, which are off the wall for the HTTYD universe while trying to honor it (and proud of it). I am lucky I have readers like you who take the time to read my stories THANK YOU!

**Translations**

**"Negeh kon!" **- Look there!_  
_

**_ "_Chi? Koja? Ha-le! Ejdehar!" -**What? Where! Hey! Dragons!

**"Fuge! Fuge in valle! Festina! Dracones oppugnabunt!"- **Flee! Flee into the valley! Dragons are attacking!

**"Illi sunt dracones? Non! Nos interficient! Fugite, amici! Festinate!"- **Those are dragons! They're attacking us! Run, friends! Hurry!

**" Nemo vincere draconem possum!" - **No one can win against a dragon!

**"Unicus draco vincere draconem possunt! Non dracones!"- **Only a dragon can defeat a dragon! We're not dragons!


	9. Westward Bound

**Chapter 9**

**Westward Bound**

Well, the next chapter. Sorry for the slow pace. This is the utra busy season in my company. Seems I have met a few more tourism/convention HTTYD fans now, and they are also going through the same busy period. This just is crunch time for all of us. But, more than that, it is the ONE YEAR BIRTHDAY OF HTTYD AS A MOVIE! And that is a wonderful fact. Let's all of us fans keep our love and stories going so we are still pubilshing when the next HTTYD TV series and the 2014 film comes out! We have the power to keep it alive!

This chapter is T rated, but I wanted to do a bit of Heinlein inspired writing and have you think about how non humans view life and love, namely Turkmene horses and dragons. Their views may be alien to ours, but they are also not human, but I hoped you would see that their way has evolved to fit their way of life. I don't mean it to be offensive but just to show how non humans have a very different view of relationships and the role of parents.

And... can you guess all the languages used below for words for "dragons?"

* * *

"Listen, son. Most women are damn fools... but they've got more range than we've got. The brave ones are braver, the good ones are better — and the vile ones are viler, for that matter."- R. A. Heinlein,_ The Puppet Masters _

**Disclaimer: ** (In Arabian horse-speak) - I no own dragons I no own Firemakers who are Vikings. Only Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell own them. This too much hard thinking work for me to long-term-think. Better to spend it to eat and to sleep. This is what horses be good at. Pass me the hay and the water. Thank you.

* * *

I may be a young and sweet little murderous warhorse, but I've been in enough conflicts to know they don't actually take very long. They just seem like it.

What really _does _take a long time is the clean-up.

By normal standards, this skirmish had left behind minimal damage. A few sheep had been carried away, and one cluster of stragglers had arrived later, leading a saddled horse. The rider had been ripped completely out of the saddle by the invading dragons. The other merchants had survived, as had all the gear.

It was hoped one of the merchants who did survive would recover from the attack and get used to seeing out of only one eye.

We also had the corpse of the dragon that Gatalas and I had killed with the poisoned arrow, the one who had tried to carry off Lux.

For we Sarmatians, dealing with the bodies of dead dragons was the worst part of our these strange and recent attacks.

The dragon had to be moved from the gorge, and it required several horses to drag the corpse. Of course, those merchant- class prima donna caravan pack, cart and riding horses had to go through all their "I'm soooo scared of anything bigger than a leaf" routine. They can be _so_ annoying with their highly selective ability to spook at things related to any sort of work!

So, Ravenwing and I had to be cart horses now, hooked up to and dragging away the corpse of a dragon. Never mind that we had journeyed fast and hard and helped save the lives of this caravan- and its worthless mundane horses.

At least the oxen, bless their courageous and calm natures, allowed their riders to hitch them up to the dead dragon as well. They gave a helping shoulder, and they really took on much of the weight. It still was annoying as we passed the burly cart horses and packhorses, who grazed nonchalantly and then looked up as we trudged past.

They would then roll their eyes and snort loudly in fear.

_::I'm not getting near that dead dragon. It'll eat me!:: _ I heard one say.

_::And there we go, my darling mare! _Ravenwing thought snidely to me, ::_Equine logic at its best! ::_

The mercenaries' horses might have lent a hand, being more used to war and action, but their riders refused to help. They were boycotting in protest.

Apparently, dragon body parts are a hot item for Firemakers. Teeth, claws, scales and skulls are sold for decorations. Internal organs are dried and ground up, sold as potions for giving Firemakers better health and (but, more likely, indigestion).

Setarah had refused to let them carve up the dead dragon. To a Sarmatian, desecrating a dead dragon is a sacrilege. We only use their shed scales because they let us collect them. Everyone old enough to breathe knows dragons are tied in with Marha, and to carve one up for body parts is to destroy a being who belongs to the divine.

Mercenaries are not overly fond of priests as it is , even if they are handy blacksmith-priests. Setarah's stance about the dragon did not make them change their dislike in any way.

Oh, the irony! Setarah's efforts helped save the caravan's life, but because she would not let the mercs get a little wealthier, it gave them one more reason to hate religious figures. And duck out of helping out for the good of the caravan.

It was amazing watching her turn into a shouting spitfire, considering some of those mercs could have bent her in half for breakfast. But she held her ground. She stuck her chin up, fire in her eyes, and kept the Draco head strategically held in front of her flat chest.

It was her act of saving the caravan that kept the mercs from overruling her- or even taking her down a few pegs with some well-placed blows to the jaw. Actually, it was not only because she saved the caravan, but because she had used "magic" to do just that.

You don't mess with someone who can make dragons turn back with a twist of a hand holding a strange golden dragon head talisman in "his" other hand.

So, all of them but one punctured the air with various curse words in various languages and walked away to grouse about the evils of the priesthood.

And they refused to help with the hauling.

Now Gatalas gritted his teeth and chanted out our mantra about gratitude being an invisible emotion as we Turkmenes and oxen pulled the dead dragon's corpse out of the gorge's mouth, hauling it up the rocky rims and then onto the plain.

The oxen took it in stride, shouldering the heavier burden, and I was grateful for that. We Turkmenes were made for speed, not for pulling burdens. The horse collar that had been lent to me dug into my neck and shoulders. The merchant who had lent it to us mentioned to Gatalas, ironically, that these collars were an invention of the River Rats, who often sold them to European merchants and farmers.

Must explain why it was so uncomfortable.

The one merc who did not protest did ride with us now, trotting ahead of us to seek a good grave site. He was a Syrian and found selling dragon body parts beneath his personal code of conduct and dignity when his sword brought him enough income. He could not help with the pulling because his horse was simply too small and finely built to pull heavy weights. She was one of the swift and disgustingly beautiful desert horses that originated in the Nej Peninsula.

These _Arabians_, as they are called, thrive in arid lands. They are used as war and hunting steeds, like we Turkmenes, and they are famous for their stamina and loyalty to their riders. However, their origin lands are sandier than the Turanian steppes where my tribe originated, so their body type looks quite different from ours.

We both are hardy critters, swift-footed with finely-shaped heads. The similarities end there. We Turkmenes are tall and skinny with long legs and long spines. We have small iron-hard hooves and flat sides, long ears and sparse manes and tails. (If we even are born with a mane in the first place.) Overall, we're rangy and hardy.

Arabians are smaller with shorter legs, softly rounded bodies and largish, perfectly-round hooves. They have pert little ears and beautiful, flowing manes and tails, the latter sometimes so long they brush the ground. Their necks curve in a regal arch, and their muzzles are so dainty and perfect they could fit into a tea bowl. Their large, shadowed eyes would make a gazelle feel ugly.

If I would compare us to dragons, the Arabians would be the Magnesium Breathers (Deadly Nadders). We would be the Whispering Deaths.

Guess who won the Firemaker- judged beauty contest among our two equine tribes?

This Arabian was a silvery-white color peppered with patches of dappled gray on her shoulders and flanks. Dust seemed to just slide off her hide as she danced ahead of us, pristine and dainty, while Ravenwing and I had long lost our Turkmene glow in the sweat-matted dust that mantled us.

I admit I felt every inch the snarking fishbone around her. It didn't help that the other caravan horses treated her like she was visiting royalty and sighed after her beauty. I heard disparaging comments about chicken bones and toasting racks tossed in Ravenwing's and my direction. The Arabian, however, got such critical observations as "queenly," "gazelle-like," "the Sky Lady in her filly form," and "the wind come down to earth."

It was just so unfair, just so...

_::Jealousy will get you nowhere::_ Ravenwing chided me gently me as I watched this manifestation of perfection trotting ahead of us. Ravenwing was trying to hold back laughter even while grunting with pulling the load, :_:You have... hrrrhh... to admit she is an exquisite creature. I've ... hrrrh... seen a fair amount of... Nej tribe members before. They are ... hrrrrhh all that beautiful. Be a ... hrrrrhhh... big girl, now, and ... hrrrhhh deal with it. ::_

::_Hrrrh. Would you focus on pulling instead of teasing? Or ... hrrrnh... watching ..._her_. It's... hrrrnh... Lady, but this is heavy...! _:: I gritted my teeth as one of the oxen slipped a bit, some of the load shifting onto my shoulders until the bovine recovered his balance, _::Besides! Why are you... hrrrhh... w-watching? You're a... gelding... for ...hrrrrh ... Hrani's sake!::_

Ravenwing snorted with the patient humor of those who are older and have dirtier minds, :_:Nothing wrong with art appreciation, ma'am. Hrnnhhh! Ahh, we're here! Finally!::_

We all sighed in relief as little Miss Perfect nanced to a halt, her rider holding a hand up. The goateed, leather-skinned Syrian slid off and dropped the mare's reins, knowing she was trained enough to not run away. And she did wait, nostrils flaring, not pleased to be so close to a dead dragon.

_Well, aren't you special? _I thought uncharitably. My training had taken weeks to overcome the horsy "run away from everything that moves" fear instinct out of me. I forget, sometimes, that mundane horses don't get trained in this very well, for the most part.

At least Miss Perfect's owner seemed to have taught her some manners.

The Syrian turned his head and looked the other way, keeping a watch over possible intruders.

I sighed in relief as Gatalas and Setareh unclasped the chains binding us to the dragon so Ravenwing, the oxen, and I could be freed. Trust me, much as I love my neck bands and the Red Death ribbon and skull baubles, harnesses are just not that fun.

Setarah had set a small, leathery bundle she was carrying on the ground before she moved to unharness us. Now, as Gatalas pulled the annoying RIver Rat horse collars from Ravenwing and I, Setareh knelt by the dead dragon.

Setareh's bundle grew red-flecked amber eyes, unfolded its wings and turned into Lux. He slunk over to the dead dragon with a slow _wumping _motion, his nose twitching as he smelled the air. He then flicked out a red, forked tongue, tasting the scents around the dead beast.

"Go ahead, kitten," Setareh said gently, "No one will stop you. But don't touch him. The _scythion _poison on the arrows could hurt you."

I translated, and Lux hunched into himself for a moment. He trilled a little note, as if steeling himself, and then moved onwards, investigating this strange beast in front of him.

Lux's eyes were dilated as he limped around the dragon's corpse, taking in the close up sight of one of his distant relatives. He was very quiet, and I could understand that. This was a lot to take in. Here was his first dragon, the first dragon to ever touch him... and that same dragon had been out to hurt Lux.

The kitten sighed sadly as he paced the body, flicking a tongue out to "taste" the air around the striped scales, tentacles and horns of the creature.

:_:What kind of Person is it?:: _ I heard his thought-voice directed at both me and Ravenwing, _::Have you seen this tribe before?::_

:_:Many times::_ Ravenwing answered, _::This is a Naptha Breather, a smaller cousin to those great Warlords of dragons- the great Self Burners::_

_::What some Firemakers know as the 'Monstrous Nightmare, :: _ I clarified, _::Many of them think the Naptha Burners are baby Nightmares, but they really are a smaller version of the better known Nightmare. They may be smaller, but they are deadly in their own right since they can slip into places the others cannot. That's why it was a Naptha Person and a Magnesium Person who were the only dragons who could get into the gorge.::_

Ravenwing whuffled his nostrils, :_:They cross the Steppes sometimes, and they let our scout riders- the ones like Eyeful's Firemaker- guide them.::_

Lux had halted now in front of the magnificent, horn-crowned head. He sat back on his hindquarters and tail and raised his good front paw up, as if longing to touch the brow of the dragon in front of him.

_::My first dragon. I wish he and I could have met as friends. It seems so... sad. I wanted him to like me.::_ Lux tilted his head, taking in we Turkmenes with heavy eyes, _::He said some scary things, things about Her and They. And I was not initiated, so I was not a dragon, just food._::

Interesting concepts, indeed. Especially about the initiation. Did dragons have similar coming- of-age ceremonies as we Turkmenes have? Like the Sarmatian Firemakers have?

I was distracted by chanting and a Firemaker song. I bent my gaze back to the dead Naptha Breather. Setareh was singing quietly to the dragon in a rich, beautiful, husky voice. The song was about fire that had been quenched before its time, an apology to Marha for the dragon's death. The dragon was fire from Marha, and it was time to return the dragon back to its source. Seterah wished the dragon well on his journey.

Ravenwing gestured his dark head at Lux, motioning the dragon to come back from the corpse and join us three. Lux dropped back to all fours and limped back to stand by we Turkmenes and Gatalas.

Setareh continued her song-prayer. This time there were no flowery, pretty references to skulls or graves or worms or other fripperies. This was pure, gritty and simple prayer, a eulogy to a dragon who had died a sad death by Sarmatian hands and hooves. The song-prayer ended with a wish for a better world in the great beyond for that magnificent, wounded creature, a hope he would find the peace he did not have here on this plane.

Behind her, Gatalas stood, head lowered in respect to the dead dragon. We Turkmenes lowered ours, too. Lux glanced at Ravenwing and then, solemnly, lowered his wolf-like head, too.

"Fly to Marha with our hopes and blessings. Be happy in the one-legged one's embrace." Setareh said softly.

"Fly... NOW!" she shouted.

And the dragon's body burst into fire.

We all leapt back at once, but we were far enough away to be safe. Setareh was close to the corpse, but she sprang back with a gazelle-like leap and joined us.

Her slender hands were curled around one of the clever little Fire-starter stick-devices our FIremakers have been using since we crossed over into this timeline, the kind that throw sparks when activated. I would guess the dragon's habit of coating itself with its saliva provided the fuel for the fire.

The Syrian turned back to watch, eyes widened. To him it must have seemed Setareh made fire jump from her bare hands.

His horse was trembling but stood her ground.

We watched a bit longer before turning back for the gorge. Fire is sacred to our Firemakers, and they consider it a sacrilege to burn dead corpses- fire is pure, and burning an earthly body desecrates the fire and insults Marha, the one legged dragon rider who mastered fire.

It's different for dragons. They are creatures of fire. Then we are obligated to burn their bodies and send them back to Marha where they can rest in peace.

The Syrian mounted his Arabian, and the two took the lead. Gatalas and Setarah would follow, each leading one of the great oxen. Of course, they knew we Turkmenes would follow our Riders. We don't need to wear straps around our head and metal bars in our mouths to follow our Riders.

Though I did have to admit the Arabian's bridle had some lovely decorations on it, tassels and tiny sword/moon pendants, and a leather-strapped fly guard over the brow band to protect her eyes from biting gnats. I have one of those, as well, for the swampy spring months, but hers was prettier.

I gritted my teeth and pretended it did not bother me.

I noticed that Lux did not scamper back into the basket on my harness. Instead he crouched by Ravenwing's legs. The middle-aged Turkmene whickered in laughter and knelt down so Lux could scramble up onto his shoulders. He perched on the Turkmene's neck harness/hand grip, stretching his wings as far as they could go.

Ravenwing started walking, then, by his Rider, Lux perched on his shoulders. The kitten began to flex his wings, pulling them in various directions.

I fell in by Gatalas, who placed his hand on my neck, scratching it in affection while also using his hand to keep contact with my eyesight.

"Seems like Lux has abandoned us," Gatalas said with a soft laugh.

:_:No skin off my teeth,:: _I answered, :_:I think he's impressed with Ravenwing, and he should be. He may be a foul mouthed ole cuss, but Ravenwing is brave and kind and honest. He's a bit irreverent, but he's not a bad role model for our kitten in the things that matter. Just be prepared for a few naughty words to come floating out of Lux's thoughts::_

"Nothing we haven't heard before."

* * *

The Arabian watched watched as Lux attacked the vicious bowl of stew, purring and growling as he did.

She flared her nostrils in disgust and turned her head away in an

"I'm too good to be watching this" gesture.

_::Impressive, isn't it, desert doll?_:: Ravenwing asked her with teasing affection.

She flatted her ears and snapped at him, even though she was tethered some distance from us. She had been unsaddled, looking even smaller and daintier than ever. She snorted and started eating her dried alfalfa.

_::You have a way with mares,:: _ I told Ravenwing as we munched our hay. I was actually feeling pretty content. We'd been brushed clean of mud and sweat, and the night would be warm enough to not need the blanket. We'd had fresh, clean river water to drink and this lovely, well-cured hay.

This was a gift from some Khazarian traders. It was nice because we had thought we'd be eating Power Feed this evening. Overall, the merchants were much more appreciative than their horses. Horses, riders, hound and dragon had all been fed.

Gatalas and Setareh truly were grateful. We'd not been able to hunt today, and the Firemakers preferred not to dip into the dried rations this early in the journey.

We'd had a slow stream of merchants wander over to take a gander at Lux. To his credit, the little dragon took it in stride. It helped that Kourosh had planted himself by Lux and stared intently at any Firemaker coming too close to the kitten. Those who did were treated with a threatening growl.

There was no need to hide Lux since he had been in plain sight during the attack. In fact, the presence of a young dragon helped lend even more mystique to the Sarmatian Firemakers. They could slay a fierce dragon with two shots of a small bow. They could turn back invading dragons with magic. And they were wardens to an injured baby dragon.

Words came out in hushed tones as merchants gazed at Lux: _dargon, draco, drache, thrakos, dracul, tannym, arach, al taneen, smok, __dragão, joka__..._

Since these mysterious strangers from the eastern steppes had power over a dragon, they could observe the creature. They whispered in tones that were fearful at first, but then became admiring.

Both Gatalas and Setareh found that a good thing, mentioning this to each other.

I wonder if they realized how strange the merchants found _them_. None of the merchants would know who the Sarmatians actually were. In this timeline, apparently, our people had died out from a plague. Even in our native timeline we lived in the time of the Broomhead Empire, almost a thousand years before this time period of wandering merchants and raiding River Rats. Before we had made the Crossing, the Broomhead "priests" who had opened the temporal gates had told our Firemaker priests that in the 11th century of our own future, Sarmatians had faded away, blending into other peoples. Most of them would inhabit a place roughly similar to where Nowheresville was located. The land would be called the You-Crane. One tribe of Sarmatians would survive longer than the rest, the golden haired Halani, who would settle in the northern Caucasus mountains. The region where we had wandered would eventually be home to nomadic tribes known as the _Mahd-yar,_ or Hungarians.

I did hear the words "scythian," and those good Firemakers did predate Sarmatians, so maybe there were some legends about them in this time line.

_::Hey, Horsebutt:: _ Gatalas thought-sent to me, _::D'ya know I've already had three offers for you?::_

_::Only three?:: _I sniffed , _::Well, I hope they were high priced::_

::_You are worthless, my dear nag, because no price would be high enough.::_ Gatalas laughed, _::You're stuck with me, I am afraid.::_

_::Such is life. I'll survive, I guess.::_

See, Miss Perfect? I may not be as purty as you, but Firemakers seem to think I am valuable.

Ravenwing's thought voice was deep and rich with laughter, _::You're cute when you're jealous, Eyeful.::_

_::Permission to Mindlink:: _The sultry, feminine voice rubbed against my brain.

:_:Granted::_ both Ravenwing and I thought at the same time.

The Arabian was staring at us intently, _::You are strange to me. Horses and yet not horses. I no see your kind before.::_

_::We're of the Turkmene tribe:: _ Ravenwing told her, :_:You may have seen some of our people in the Great Pris- I mean Bizz- I mean Byzuh- I mean the Greek speaking lands. They'd call us Parthians or Nisseans.:_:

_::I travel much there. I no see horse like you. But I see much Firemaker pictures and clay figures from there. Horses there look like bit like you. In my home village, there famous painted statue of great Greek warrior who rode black horse. Horse looks like you, black one.::_

_::Ah, the Great Makadonian, Alexander. He rode a Turkmene stallion named Bucephalos. He was an ancestor of mine.::_

_::Liar::_ I whispered to Ravenwing :_:Every Sarmatian foal knows Bucephalos was not pure Turkmene. He'd _never_ have accepted wearing a bit and bridle. He was of the Thessalonian- tribe they have Turkmene ancestry. DISTANT Turkmene ancestry::_

_::Just trying to impress the little lady with our noble heritage. Goodness knows, most of these sorry excuses for horses seem to think we're ugly- any bit of useful tale telling helps. Besides, how do _you_ know? Bucephalos _was _quite the wandering stud- he couldn't be anything else with his rider being so eager to conquer the world. You have to admit many mares are impressed by a capable war stallion, ::_Ravenwing sighed in mockery of a silly smitten filly_, ::There's something alluring about a male in a war uniform. Anyway, I do think I look very much like he did. There _could_ be a bit of the great one's blood in me. :: _

_::Well, there's _something_ odd in you, that's for certain! And _I_ would not be attracted to a non Turkmene. Most of us mares are not. I don't see why our ancestresses would be any different:: _

The Arabian interrupted our teasing/bickering, :_:There is an extra thing _'on-with-in_' you two. Makes you much strange. I no afraid of you, but I no sure of you. No sure how to trust you. Your thought speech so twisty and complicated, slinky-twisty-curly snake. Not simple and plain like mine. Thoughtspeech from you too much like how Firemakers talk. No good for horse to think like Firemaker does. :: _

:_:Well, desert lady, we are Sarmatian Turkmenes, so we're quite unusual. Both we and our Firemakers have a very, very old partnership, one that almost goes back to when all horse-kind crossed the Earth Bridge to wander in the Turanian flats:: _ Ravenwing took another mouthful of hay, _::We've come to resemble our Riders over time in our way of thinking, most definitely. And, there _is_ something extra in us that makes us different. It would take a lot of explaining, though.::_

_::Then, don't. I no like long descriptions. I no like to spend much time to think. Time on this world limited. Better to spend it to eat good food. Sleep good sleep. Carry a good rider. And run like the wind:: _she snorted cheerfully, _:: We Nej Tribe close to our riders, too. I come from good line of Bedu war horses. My grandmother much great warrior. So great her rider have her sleep in his family's tent so she be warm and dry at night She a true part of his family! ::_

The mare watched us again for a moment. Behind us we could hear singing coming from the Khazari traders' tents. Like most of the Khazars, they followed the faith of the Hebrews, and it sounded like they were singing a prayer. It was a mournful, looping melody, and it was quite beautiful.

The Arabian continued_, ::But I do see amazing animals- more horse-not horses. Even more not-horse than you two. I no see horses-nothorses well sure since they so far from me. But I see they long, thin bodies. Like you. But they seem part dragon, part horse.::_

I whickered in surprise. That was our unit in their armor! _ ::When did you see them, Arabian? Where?::_ It would do no good asking her how many. Most mundane horses cannot count past four.

_::Yesterday. My rider and leave the caravan and track hare for dinner. See, then, dragon-horses in distance. They move sundown ward. To the mountains. They seem scattery, running. Something chase them maybe? Many attacking dragons in this area. But I see nothing. So why run?::_

In addition to her thought speech, she also had a good image of grasslands rising gradually into forested mountains and a band of funny creatures who looked like scaly horses running like a terrified, stampeding herd, humans clinging to them like burrs. Her own perceptions made the Turkmenes of our unit quite exaggerated, with long, forked tongues and spiky reptilian tails and claws.

I memorized it to show it to my Rider later. It seemed a bit odd me. From what I understood, the portal would not have been in the mountains but skirting them.

_::I know they weren't galloping, but shouldn't the dragon unit have been over the portal by now?::_

Ravenwing was working it through his mind, as well, :_:Probably ran into some dragons. They'd be facing them every night if they were following the right trail. They may have seemed like they were panicking, but I don't think so. One of the units was moving away from the path, probably doing the decoy maneuver, the old parting shot. It is, after all, our Firemaker's specialty. ::_

I tried to tell myself that. There was some sense in me that things seemed a bit off.

* * *

_Rrrrraoooorgghhh! _

I roared in joy, my proud cry rumbling over the grasslands, echoing for long moments afterward.

At least that's what happened in my mind. The actual raspy hiss was not so dramatic, but the thoughts behind it were.

We were flying across the plain, the earth streaking beneath Ravenwing's hooves as a golden-brown blur. Sometimes blades of yellowed grass and clumps of earth flew up to smack against my basket.

One of them smacked my muzzle, scattering clouds dirt around my muzzle. I licked soil off my face, the dirt tasting strange but nice, too. I thought maybe this is how life tastes.

I was really coming to love these moments of flying on a Turkmene, the wind tickling me and making me feel so alive! Ahead of me ran Eyeful, striped legs flashing and hooves thudding on the ground. I think my heart was making the same thudding sounds in my chest!

Yesterday had been uncomfortable when Eyeful had galloped, but now my body was getting used to it, responding automatically to the motions so that I no longer was being jostled in the basket. It was not that Ravenwing was any smoother at galloping than Eyeful- I just was getting better at being on a horse.

My left leg seemed even better than yesterday, flexing more, aching less. I had actually wanted to ride Ravenwing perched on his neck harness, as we had done yesterday during the attack. The black Turkmene refused, letting me know we would be going very fast today to get across these plains. My legs were still getting used to clinging to a horse, and I didn't want to push my luck since my left leg was not working, and my wings were still strained. If I wanted him to carry me, then I had to agree to ride in the basket during the fastest gallops.

I did want to ride with the Turkmene and his crazy man-woman Rider, so I agreed with it. I can't say why I liked the black horse. He just seemed so interesting and brave and oh-so-cool and collected.

Oh, and a bit naughty, too. Maybe that was it. He could say the most crazy and even naughty things and yet make it seem so utterly classy and dignified.

The skies above were grey, deep with clouds, and I could scent water in them. I hoped it would not rain. It was cold outside and I could not roar well enough to make my fire come out- whatever kind of fire I was supposed to breathe. Then, again, the rain might keep the dragons from attacking us tonight as we journeyed closer.

And, who knows, we might even meet up with the other Monster/Firemakers to give them the Draco head! Eyeful had found it a bit odd we might catch them up so soon, but then the mission would be over soon, and then maybe we could meet some nice dragons who would show me how to fly and breathe fire.

So on we galloped, the hooves of the Turkmenes our only conversation. Of course, we did not run all day. We actually stopped several times, usually near a creek or lake. Sometimes we would use the chance to mark our territory- well, the Firemakers, Kourosh and I, anyway. I found the whole habit quite interesting. Why would we mark territory in a place we would only be in a few minutes? Marking territory means you should be willing to stay and defend it.

But, then, Monster/Firemakers are odd.

Of course, Kourosh was a big reason for us to rest as well. He was able to keep up with us pretty well, but he eventually would drop behind, so we would halt for him to catch up.

Sometimes we did not gallop but slowed to that lovely, fluid up-and-down traht gait. As Ravenwing explained, his people can run fast and far, but they actually can get further in a day if they vary their pace.

_::It's like you dragons, kid. You blast out all your fire in one or two displays of power, you might impress the dragon babes, but you aren't gonna last in a fight very long. You have to conserve your fire, and we Turkmenes have to conserve our speed.::_

It was during these slower lulls that I was allowed to come out and perch on the neck harness, my body framed on each side by the arms of Ravenwing's Rider. I would look up to see her face and, once when she looked down at me, she split her lips in the friendly smile these Monster/Firemakers give.

I tried to give her the same smile back, and she laughed softly, then made her eyes cross towards each other so she looked goofy, and she stuck out her tongue.

I had no idea how my eyes could do that, but I stuck out my tongue and gave a barking yip.

Below us, Kouroush made the exact same noise and shook his head, flapping his long, silky ears.

Both the Firemaker and I laughed for quite a while, each in our own ways.

_::Primitive children:: _ Ravenwing snorted, :_:So easily entertained. You probably get hours of pleasure out of watching the grass grow. Let me teach you some useful skills- like how to get the ladies to notice you.::_

_::Ladies? You mean dragonesses?::_

_::I wasn't referring to female turtles. Of course, dragonesses!::_

:_:Yuck. Why would I want some- dragoness to notice me? They're disgusting!::_ Actually, don't ask me how I know this, but this wisdom just popped up in my mind- another suppressed memory. Other dragon kittens wrestling with me, male kittens who looked like me, and we would insult each other by calling ourselves dragonesses and threatening each other with the horrible fate of having a dragoness... (gasp)... lick us!

_::Oh, you think that now, but y'see, that'll change as you get older. And, anyway, since dragonesses are the ones who usually are the leaders, it's always good to get them on your good side. So that means impressing them.:: _ Ravenwing snorted as some churned up grass went up a nostril, _::Of course, you'll find it's important to be able to discuss dragonesses when you meet with other dragon males. It's a major form of entertainment for dragon males. And there's a whole language that's developed for that. And I will be the one to teach you, my grasshopper.::_

_::You, Ravenwing? But you're a... Turkmene...!::_

_::...Who happens to have a forge priest as a Rider. Your kind often has met with Sarmatian priests, and my Rider is no exception. Plus, she and I do a lot of traveling with our work, so we've encountered a few dragons that we help guide along the way. Why do you think you're so relaxed around her? I don't think you'd allow another Firemaker to be sitting so close to you right now. She's learned how to carry herself around a dragon- the thoughts and mannerisms and ways that let your People know we are friends.::_

I agreed to that, though it had not occurred to me. I had actually hissed at Eyeful's Rider again this morning when he had tried to check my injured left front leg. And I snarled at any of the merchants who reached a hand out to me. But the priest was something different.

:_:So, I've heard a few males of your kind dish out the goods on the fairer sex of the fiery People. Besides, guys are guys are guys are guys. We pretty much all discuss the females of our own kind, it's not that different between species.::_

_::All right, then, great and mighty teacher, enlighten me with your great wisdom!:: _I trilled,_ ::Just don't discuss disgusting dirty stuff like love licks and rubbing muzzles and other dragonessy mushy stuff.::_

So, during these traht interludes, I did, indeed learn some interesting terms. There are useful terms to discuss when around other dragon guys: _gams, broad, check out the scales on that babe, gazongas_ (those are ear sensors, apparently), _assets, attributes, well-turned legs, and her sexy curves_ (apparently the shape of the wings is a way to measure draconic beauty) . My favorite one is just to look at the other dragons and purr with a "RRRRRowwrrr" sound.

There are also terms you can say to a dragoness if you like her and you think she might be "lighting up" for you as well. Words like_ toots_ (the blowing sound an attracted female dragon makes out of her nose) , h_ot stuff, kitten face, cutie claws and sweet plates._ Said dragoness will usually blast a fire jet at you, but it actually means she is thrilled by it, not angry. Apparently the trick is to say those names not with an insult but with teasing fondness. A few well placed gifts of freshly killed prey or precious pebbles also get the message across.

If the dragoness ignores you rather than flaming you, then that means you failed.

Well, it was good to know, but thank the, the - what were they- the Sky Lady, Night Lady and Creator Father that I was still too young to worry about this yet.

_::Actually, most of it is pretty much friendly flirting and teasing. And the dragonesses often like to tease the drakes right back. They have their own terms for the guys, like big drake and ash snoot. Dragons have mating seasons, just like we Turkmenes, do. They usually hold their convocations to coincide with mating season. But it never hurts to let a broad know you are impressed by her. ::_

We followed Eyeful, who was now ambling through a strand of trees with white and black trunks, her hooves crunching through a layer of golden, dried leaves.

_::So, I bet you're good at it.:: _ I told Ravenwing, who gave a deep thought chuckle., _::You know, during mating season and all.::_

::Oh, I am _the _master, _and I can make a red Turkmene mare blush even redder with flattery. And, when we are not on duty many of the war mares mares like flocking near me and bring me gifts of grass and flowers and groom me. But I'm a gelding. Mating season's for the stallions. And they're welcome to it. All that beating up and biting and kicking and broken bones and banishment just so one lucky stallion gets to breed with all the mares. And the rest of us "lucky" dudes gets to spend another year, banished, wandering alone on the steppes, cold and hungry and pursued by predators. Not for me. No how. No way.::_

_::So, you mean there are two kinds of male horses? Stallions and geldings?::_

_::Nope. Only one kind. Just one participates in the mating brutal fighting- oh, sorry, I meant mating season. And the other kind, well, doesn't. You're a smart kitten. You can figure it out.::_

It didn't take me too long._ ::That's disgusting! Cruelty! I knew they were Monsters! Knew it!::_

_::It was my choice, kid. Every male Turkmene has the choice. Most horses don't. Our Firemakers let us decide.:: _

_::Someone takes away- uh- your- erm- and you- you LET them? How?:: _I think, to my embarrassment, I actually wailed.

Ravenwing turned, angling around a tree with an oddly shaped trunk, _::See, you're thinking this like a dragon, not a horse. We horses are herd animals and, for us, we view the Good of the Herd over the good of the individual. That's how we have survived: as a herd. The steppes are not a walk in the summer forest. Life there is good, and the steppes are very beautiful, but they are also shadowed by death. And there are so many ways a horse can die: starvation, drought, predators, broken legs, fire, storms, floods, sickness. Only the strong survive, and only the best stallion breeds so the next generation will be strong. The best stallion is not only the strongest, he also has the strongest mental control::_

_::What do you mean?::_ I relaxed a bit, but I was still not sure I liked this way horses lived.

_::In the wild and on the steppes, our main form of defense is to outrun our enemies. You've seen there ain't many places to hide unless you are a horse the size of a grass blade. But we also are not bonded with FIremakers, so we panic easily. It's only those of us who choose to bond with Firemakers who go through Training to learn to suppress our flight instinct. The rest of us Turkmenes- those who remain wild- they will panic as much as the next horse. And they can scatter like crazy. The lead mare and the herd stallion have to be able to keep the herd together, mentally keep them calm enough to run as a unit. That takes some serious thought speaking abilities._

_:: And most of us Turkmenes, sadly, don't have that kind of power. So only one stallion and one lead mare live in each herd. In all wild horse herds, as soon as colts grow old enough, the stallion chases them out of the herd. If a colt is strong enough, he can challenge the stallion, but he most likely won't win.::_

_::What happens to the colts?:: _I asked, gripping my claws into the neck harness.

_::They are on their own to survive. They need to be, to grow tough and maybe return to take on the herd stallion. Sometimes they form 'bachelor herds' to survive, but many just live on their own as outcasts. They try to steal mares from the herds, even doing raids. Sometimes it works and they become the stallion of their own herd- if they have the mental and physical strength to lead a herd. Most of us don't though.::_

_::Do they survive? And what about the fillies? Are they thrown out, too?:: _I ducked my head as a shower of golden leaves came down onto my head, shaken loose when Ravenwind had brushed against a tree trunk.

_::Well, nothing survives, in the long term. And horses in the wild live free lives, but it's rare to grow to an old age on the steppes. A bachelor stallion lives a shorter life than a herd mare because he is fending for himself. Even the bachelor herds are rather loosely knit. As for the mares, not they stay in the herd, but some aspire to be a lead mare, and they may willingly join a young bachelor trying to create a new herd. And sometimes it works and there is a new herd on the steppes. That is good, because new blood is important to keep our kind going._

Ravenwing's thought voice went a bit cold now, _::And, to be honest, the reign of a herd stallion is not a long one, certainly not for mundane stallions. During mating seasons, young bachelors will challenge him for the mares, and there will be a brutal fight. Often may brutal fights. The herd stallion has the advantage of wiliness and experience, but there comes a day when he is defeated in battle, and the herd has a new leader.::_

_::Is he killed?::_ I gasped, remembering Deathblood, the noble herd stallion who had raced with us, the creature whose coat matched that of dried blood.

_::Rarely, but he may later die of his injuries. If bones are broken in a fight, the injured horse rarely survives it in the wild. Especially broken legs. But he will be driven out of the herd and wander his last days alone, unless he finds some bachelors to join. Some loyal mares may try to come with him, but most know it is time for a new leader. They stay for the Good of the Herd. _

_::Now, this part is hard, kid, but it happens among dragons, too, so just listen. When the new leader takes over, he kills all the foals.::_

I could not suppress a squeak-growl of anger, :_:That's not fair!::_

_::It's life on the steppes, sadly. A new leader wants a new start. Children of his former rival are too dangerous to have around and are often challenging him. Lions do this to a defeated rival's cubs, as do Self Burners and Sand spitters. Only, for them, it's the dragonesses who destroy the eggs of the former queen::_

_::So, then, you wound up having a choice between not having foals and...?::_

A snort of humor, _::... and not having foals. I would have never had foals, anyway. Only the stallion breeds with the herd. The rest of us are effectively out of the plan. But we Turkmenes who are allied with Firemakers approach it differently. We start in the herd, running as wild as the rest of them. And , when we are old enough, the stallion chases us colts out of the herd. It's then we have a choice. Our dams have told us about it, so we've had our lives to consider it. We can remain in the wild and make a go of it on the plains. We'll have our freedom and maybe start a herd of our own. We, incidentally, have three herds that follow our caravan, so it is possible- just not likel_y. _But we'll also be facing dangers without a herd. _

_::And, even worse, being smarter than other horses, we start to turn more savage without the company of others. We become almost mad, sometimes, roaming like outlaws until we die- which comes sooner than later, usually. Freedom, yes, but at a great price. Horses were not meant to be alone. We need the connection to a herd... or to a Rider.::_

I snorted, sounding almost like Ravenwing, _::Seems like a rather bad choice.::_

_::It's how we have survived, kiddo. It's the Herd that matters, not one bachelor stallion. And we _do _have a choice, so that's a factor. Most horses do not. If we join the Firemakers, choose to bond with one, then we do give up our freedom and our chance to become a herd stallion- small as it might be. But we gain a true friend who cares for us, who protects and loves us as a bond brother or sister- as we protect and love them. And there are mamy mares who are good friends of mine- I'd never have their admiration and love as a bachelor- or even as a herd stallion- who must set himself apart as the highest ranking horse. I am fed well and kept warm in the winter and dry from the rain. Best of all, I still am free! Sarmatians are wanderers, they roam the lands, just as a horse herd does, no fence or tether will keep us in one place. I just happen to share my wanderings with the best forge priest ever.::_

A few moments of silence except for thudding hooves, _::I think I got back far more than I gave up, kitten.::_

I thought about this. In many ways, Ravenwing was like the black dragon on the dreampaths and his skinny, speckled Firemaker. Both of them had allied themselves with FIremakers willingly, even though they had lost their freedom to roam freely. They both felt they got something better back from it.

_::I know what you'll ask next, so I'll just tell you, :: _humor colored Ravenwing's voice as he splashed across a stream, water droplets beading across my hide as he did, _ ::I ran with a another bachelor for several years, growing from a yearling into a powerful young colt. It was fun at first, but then came the winters, and life was hard trying get by. And I felt so lonely. My fellow bachelor and I got along, but we still were stallions and so constantly rivals with each other when we were not in any danger. _

_::When the Firemakers came to the steppes to bring in the young horses for the Training, they just rode up to my companion and I and stopped a long distance away. They let us decide whether or not to come up to them. Then then turned around and rode back. I knew that those of us who chose to bond would trot after them and then up in front of them, letting them come behind us and herd us to the encampment. The other bachelor took them in, muttered something about slavery, and fled, choosing to be free. You, of course, know my choice._

_::And no, the process was not cruel. My Firemakers have gained great knowledge from the visiting priests/teachers since the Crossing, and one of those things was a way to change me inside so I was not capable of siring foals. It was done with a needle prick in my neck and then another needle prick and then that was it. There were physical changes that started to happen after that, but nothing was cut or removed from me. For all practical purposes, I look like a stallion, but my neck and shoulders are not as heavy as a stallion's would be. Still, I am stronger than a mundane gelding would be since I was allowed to roam the plains mature into my adult strength before the process. And I am stronger than Turkemene mares- that's why we can do many battle moves they cannot do- more power in the shoulders and flanks.::_

The forest opened out into a dry grass swale that started to climb upwards toward a flat surface.

I began to smell something smoky in the air. Maybe we were coming up to Firemaker cooking fires.

_::I know the horses the River Rat Monsters had were very cruel::_ I said, after a moment of sniffing the air, _::They used to try to bite me and stomp on me- and they fought with each other all the time, too. They had to be chained in place when they were not being ridden or they'd try to kill each other. They were stallions::_

_::That's very true of stallions. They are aggressive by nature. They have to be to survive, but many do not have the wisdom to control their strength, so they let their anger over take them.:: _Ravenwing began to climb the slope, slowing to a walk,_ ::A wise stallion is a creature to admire, like our Deathblood. I have all respect for him. But a foolish stallion is a brute and a bully. Your stallions were also abused, so they were even angrier than the typical horse. Some mundane stallions have good owners who keep them in control without cruelty, and can be very good horses. But it was their FIremakers who made them good. Lean forward, kittykins. It helps me to climb a bit easier. ::_

I complied_ ::Did you ever see the other colt again? The one who chose to remain a wild stallion?::_

_::Yes. Once I saw him roaming alone in the winter, following the caravan tracks for hopes of getting some leftover grain. His ribs were stuck up through his coat, and he had many scars. It had been a hard winter. But the look in his eyes was of mad pride, still taking joy in his freedom. He did survive the winter. I saw him again a half year later during one of my Rider's journeyman errands. Or, what the steppe wolves had left of the stallion. He had a distinct blaze on his face, so I knew it was he.::_

_::What a pity.::_

_::It was his choice. He wanted the freedom of the steppes, and I like to think he was happy with it.::_

The smell of smoke was getting stronger and stronger now, and I found myself beginning to sneeze from it. It was woodsmoke, but it was mixed with other scents that were sickeningly sweet. This was a smell I knew all too well, since it often was left in the wake of the River Rat/Monsters when they invaded.

Burning Firemaker flesh. And flesh of another creature I did not recognize.

The Turkmenes were aware of it, now, both snorting and letting out whuffling whistling sounds of caution. Their ears had flattened back, as had my own sensors.

The Firemakers were also onto it, too. Eyeful's Rider sat straight in the saddle, and his bow was now being pulled of that strange leather shell he wore tied to his belt. I felt the priest-Firemaker shift and soon she, too, was stringing a bow, clinging to Ravenwing with just her legs and feet.

The swirling, stinging smoke had now thickened the air so that it was hard to see in front of us. I could just see that Eyeful had now reached the top of the flat hill and was staring out over it.

She was horrifically silent, as was her Rider, who just clenched the bow to his chest.

Kourosh padded up by Eyeful, tail down in caution. Ravenwing now stepped over the brim of the hill and onto the flat top, joining the silent group.

None of us made a sound, but the silence screamed for us.

Below us, the hill sloped down into a deep ravine, giving us a clear view of everything below.

Carnage. Pure and simply: carnage.

Charred forms of body after body after body: mostly Firemaker and Turkmene, but there were a few dragons mixed in. Blackened corpses, ash-white bones and papery black skin.

Most of them were gathered in a circle as though they had banded to together to attack an enemy who had surrounded them. A grisly wall of Turkmenes lay on their sides in a ring around the circle of the slain. A few Firemakers were draped over the bodies as though they had been lying behind their Turkmene's reclining body and firing arrows over it- before they had been brought down by smoke or fire, by tooth or claw.

I felt my heart sink. If these were Eyeful and Ravenwing's Monster/Firemaker tribe, they had a deep bond with their horses. They must have been desperate to have to kill their friends to use as a last- ditch barricade.

_::We are a team. Always:: _ Ravenwing's thought voice was cold and raspy, _:: But we don't have our Firemakers kill us like that. Part of our Training involves lying in front of our Riders to shield them, if need be. It was my sisters' and brothers' choice to give their lives to protect their Riders- but what a horrible choice to make. Maybe there was no other:_:

How did they die? Were they burned to death- or were they burned after they died? Had dragons surrounded them and picked then them off one by one?

I found myself shivering in spite of the fact that Firemakers are my enemies and Monsters. I should have been happy the Monster/Firemakers had been defeated by Dragons. But I was not. It was a just a guess, but still a good one, that the dragons who attacked these slain souls were the same mad ones who had attacked the caravan.

It was Ravenwing's Rider who broke the silence, her voice floating out over the smoke.

"We're too late."

And the unheard words that still spoke loud, the ones Eyeful's Rider had said yesterday.

_Only a dragon can defeat a dragon. And we're not dragons._

_

* * *

_A/N- Told you it would start getting gritty and grim. What are our protagonists going to do, now? Has everyone died? Is it up to them to take on the mystery of the ensorcelled dragons, now? Or should they go back and get reinforcements.

Only the Shadow knows...

And, just for fun, you can see the differences between Turkmenes and Arabians. Just Google images for "Akhal Teke" (the modern day Turkmene) and "Arabian horse". Which one do you think is prettier? Let me know.

I know in my obligatory "horse worship books" I read as a girl (all girls and some cowboy type boys read 'em) , the descriptions of Akhal Tekes were always very unflattering, usually involving terms like "poor confirmation" and "bad tempered." It wasn't until more of these horses began being bred in Western Europe and North America that you began to read about them as being loyal and devoted to one rider- hence why they are stubborn around everyone else.

Most of our Western world standards of how a horse should look are based on the Thoroughbred and the Arabian, and it's no surprise that most of our riding horses in the Americas, Europe and Oceania have Arabian or Thorougbred in their ancestry. Turkmenes (Akhal Tekes) come from a completely different body type, so it lies outside the "ideal" standard. In fact, they have influenced many Central and South Asian horse breeds. British colonials in the 19th century tried to "upgrade" Turkmenes by crossing them with Thorougbreds. The result was a very weak, inferior, bad tempered creature, so they gave that up and left the equine fishbones the way they were. They are still very good (if odd looking) endurance, eventing and trekking horses.

And, yes, it is believed that Bucephalos, Alexander the Great's famous black stallion, was part Turkmene. Just check out the depictions of horses on Greek, Scythian and Persian art- even some Chinese art. Those tall, long, short-maned horses are all Turkmenes.

You can wake up now.


	10. Farna's Mindhold

**Chapter 10: Farna's Mindhold**

**Disclaimer: **I don´t own any Terrible Terrors. Those belong to Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell. **  
**

"Do not confuse "duty" with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect."- R. A. Heinlein, _The Notebooks of Lazarus Long_

* * *

Smoke now seemed to be the replacement for air as we picked our way around the carnage.

It's too hard for me to describe in detail. These were our bunkies, our troop mates, the ones we joked with and drank with and shared our deepest wishes and fears.

Now we could not recognize them except for a few identifiers, mostly metallic ornamentation on uniforms.

It was a backhanded compliment to Setareh that her fine metal craftsmanship on this armor had survived in many cases- but probably also meant the occupants of the armor had boiled in their casings.

The armor had been designed to fight humans, not dragons. Even when we took on the dragon attacks in Nowheresville, our strategies had involved using guile and decoy tactics rather than straight on attacks.

Ravenwing took it the calmest. He had told me during our short time together that he actually had been one of the few Turkmenes who had bonded with another Rider before he had bonded with Setareh. This Rider had been an elderly soldier, and Ravenwing had served in a few raids in Pannonia and seen much battle against steppe tribes.

He was used to this, and his calm demeanor probably kept the rest of us trembling souls from dissolving into screaming, neighing, squeaking, barking bundles.

I was fighting constantly the instinct to flee up from the ravine into fresh air. Gatalas and Setareh were both looking visibly sick, faces pale and blank with shock.

It was probably hardest for Gatalas since he had known these men best of all of us. He moved with me, holding with one arm on the handgrip, his teeth clenched in a combination of determination and revulsion.

Lux just looked bewildered, but he whimpered a bit from time to time, perhaps understanding the scope of what his People could do. He was now back in the basket, once again a frightened and sorrowful dragon kitten.

_::Dragons did this. Dragons did this. I could do this someday. What if I didn't mean to do it and I still did it because I was mad? Or what if I became crazy? And I killed good people who were just helping me? Awful!::_

I don't think those thoughts were meant for any of us, and I pretended I did not hear them.

Kourosh refused to come into the ravine, just watching us from the top. I got the impression from his posture that he was both unwilling to come down and very willing to keep an eye out for predators that might attack us in the Ravine.

A sad tally had begun and, after some miserable walking around the new cemetery, both the Firemakers began to realize this was not the whole unit, just one of the squadrons. Somehow they had been split off from the others.

_::Or were split into companies?::_ Ravenwing wondered. His military experience, though limited by a Turkmene's smaller brain (compared to a Firemaker's) was still the best of all of us.

I saw a small flash of color under the thicker tones of black and gray and white powder. Pawing at it, I exposed a ragged square shape of blue green overlying scales. Gatalas bent down and picked it up, borrowing my eyes.

On the other side it was leather.

Setareh's blue eyes narrowed. This was part of her work, too.

"Side Stranglers. " she said in a deceptively calm voice, "It's their unit."

Gatalas let out a choking growl as if holding back swelling emotions, "Poor bastards."

Ravenwing continued to examine the destroyed squadron,_ ::Looks like they got met by a wave of attacking dragons who forced them backwards onto this hill. It's logical to seek high ground in an attack against Firemakers, but against dragons?::_

He snorted, sending ashes scattering from the ground where he now was nudging debris with his pink and black-speckled muzzle.

I translated this for Gatalas. Setareh, of course, heard it from her companion.

"So, they got surrounded and, as they were picked off, they bunched together more and more, making themselves easier targets to pick off for the dragons." My Rider said, "I guess that's then where they decided to form the circle and set up temporary barriers… and the T-turkmenes sacrificed themselves"

"Gods bless their doomed souls." Setareh whispered, her voice rich with tears, and she lifted a hand in a benediction that seemed pretty useless to me. But the Firemakers might take comfort from it, "I just hope it was fast for them."

Gatalas and I exchanged a look, blind eyes meeting sighted. Battles usually are very fast, even though they seem to take a long time during the actual incident. But where fire is involved, we knew it was a hard way to leave this world.

Gatalas leaned on me as I walked down the other side of the hill and further toward the ravine.

Here we could see burnt corpses in an irregular line, zigzagging towards the deepest of the little ravine. They were all Firemakers. One still hung from the lip of the ravine as if the Firemaker had tried to climb out and been killed by something striking him from above, but the body got wedged in a crack as it fell back down.

"I guess eventually Firemaker nature took over- a last survival instinct," Gatalas said, picking up the horrid sight from my eyes, "And there was panic as stragglers tried to run into the ravine. And the result lies before us."

I saw something scattered around the Ravine and pulled Gatalas, who stumbled after me. I snorted at several of these objects and finally lifted one in my mouth.

Good old curiosity.

Gatalas took it from me and handed it to Setareh, who turned it in her now soot blackened hands. Ravenwing looked over her shoulder nudging her in support.

"It's not Sarmatian. Looks like the dragons were not the only ones attacking our comrades. The dragons obviously had help."

Now that I pointed it out, we began to pick out more and more of these arrows until we realized the area was littered with them, but they had been covered by ash

We even now saw them sticking out of some of the corpses, along with several poor Firemakers who had limbs hacked off.

It was I, again, who found the next fun treasure, lipping and pawing at a fallen Turkmene corpse until I could get enough of the object to pull out with my teeth.

"Draco," Setareh croaked, dismayed at seeing the shattered remains of the Draco standard chipped and bludgeoned and smashed by what was obviously Firemaker implements. The pole was nowhere to be found.

I winced, realizing the Turkmene in front of me had been the eager little bay and the small, charred Firemaker behind him had once been the optimistic young teen who had been the standard bearer. I could only imagine the disillusionment he must have felt as he saw the end coming.

But his hands still grasped out, showing he had been clenching the pole as he died. It had been pulled out of his hands and the Draco head desecrated, seemingly by Firemakers.

He'd held the standard high until the very end.

"The Draco," Gatalas said, echoing Setareh's words, "If the Draco was here… and the Draco marks the Scepter Holder…"

"Oh, no… Banadaspos. No. He was with this unit!" Satareh choked.

Just like with our attack on the River Rats, the prince had positioned himself with the Side Stranglers.

I did not want to know which corpse was his or his loyal Turkmene's.

Both Firemakers were hunched shouldered now, heads drooping. And I drooped mine, as did Ravenwing.

We'd not only lost the Side Winders , but our tribe had lost its leader.

The odd thing was that there were two enemies here: Firemaker and dragon. Firemakers and dragons are enemies in this part of the world- and even in Asia, they would not be close enough to humans to fight with them. It just was not possible.

My only, poor, guess is the dragons somehow came near the end of an attack or ambush by Firemakers, making their night raids. They probably chased away the humans and then finished off the last of the Side Winders.

But how could a cunning Sarmatian unit allow themselves to be overtaken so easily?

Mysteries. And sad ones.

* * *

"So, what do we do, now?" Setareh asked hours later as she and Gatalas huddled over a miserable campfire.

We horses waited, still tacked up, our breath pluming out as the temperatures dropped. At least our Riders had draped blankets over us to keep us warm.

Rain had fallen earlier, a small shower, but one to make everyone slimy-wet and miserable in the cold. It seemed even the sky seemed to be gloomy.

Lux remained in his basket, shivering. I tried to convince him to climb out, but he refused to. I hoped he would not go torpid in the cold.

Stubborn kitten.

* * *

The rain had fallen as we had ridden around the perimeter of the ravine, assessing the damage to its fullest and trying to recover anything of value beyond the smashed Draco. We did finally come upon the pole, surprisingly undamaged beyond a few chips in the wood. Probably the Firemakers- or, less likely, dragons- had discarded it on the top of the ravine when they discovered it was not made of any precious material.

It was solely the Side Winders, the Riders realized. Indeed, no other unit had been positioned here. But where were the others, the Lave Breathers and our own Sand Spitters? We saw no tracks of them, and Gatalas sensed nothing of them in the far off wind- scents of horses and men.

Setareh also performed the song prayer of the dead, riding around the rim of the ravine and singing quietly to Marha, god of fire and life, and Anahita, goddess of war and water. She sprinkled earth into the ravine, a pathetic attempt to bury bodies that would take too long for two Firemakers to bury individually.

I knew there was an edge of worry to her prayer songs. These soldiers had been burned, and burning a Sarmatian body was a desecration to Marha. The souls would be damned, never able to obtain salvation.

Gatalas brought up the point that it had most likely been dragons that had burnt our colleagues' corpses, not Firemakers. Therefore, our brothers and sisters were not cursed. Dragons were the tool of Marha, and so perhaps the fact they had died in battle and been "fire buried" by dragons was a blessing for their souls.

That seemed to have given Setareh some comfort. She squeezed her Firemaker friend's hand in gratitude and then rode ahead, continuing her rituals.

Tears had run down her ash-grimed face, and Gatalas had been trying hard to hold his back, but it was a struggle. In spite of his blindness he could still cry, but the faint scarring on his face made the tears track down in a way most Firemakers found disconcerting.

Now he and Setareh rubbed hands and hunched into themselves, trying to find warmth in the grease sealed outwear coats that kept the rain off their bodies.

Neither made a move to try and eat anything. I couldn't blame them. I felt mighty sick to my stomach, as well. I was not surprised to see earlier that Setareh had stumbled off behind some rocks and come back a few moments later, wiping her face with a sleeve.

"We should go back and let the priests know what happened. They were right that Banadaspos' Dragon Unit had no chance against the dragons here," Setareh continued.

Gatalas pushed a loose strand of wet hair behind an ear and blew on his hands to warm them, "Yes. Seems logical, but there's that question of why there were humans here? Shouldn't we be trying to find out more before the evidence goes cold. You priests have already shown that you are people who try to understand the world around you rather than try to dominate the rest of us with mystical powers.

" I think your fellow priests would want to find out what might have happened to the other tribes and who these strange humans were."

Setareh nodded, her expression in an odd daze, "It makes sense. I just hope there's not anything out there that'll take us down, too, so the priests _never _know what happened."

"It's a risk we have to take," Gatalas said, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaws.

A snap echoed through the wooded ravine, sending some ravens fluttering overhead, their caws sounding like mocking laughter. Water droplets spattered down from the oak and ash trees, spattering on the sodden carpet of wet autumn leaves.

All of us startled, both we Turkmenes snorting in warning. Kourosh let out a warning bark, and Lux snarled softly in his basket.

A knife_ snikted_ as it came out of it holster, and then Setareh was holding up a rather nasty little weapon.

"Show yourself, now!" Gatalas shouted calmly, turning towards the noise.

Dull thuds and then a leather-clad, pale figure ghosted out of the trees, seeming to float towards us. The pale colors seemed to gain a solid form and then resolved themselves into a Turkmene.

A bone pale Turkmene with pale blue eyes,

_::Farna:: _I breathed quietly, and Gatalas picked up my thoughts.

" Banadaspos' war horse. She survived," he said in soft wonder, "Is he still alive?"

"Not bloody likely," Setareh muttered grimly, wiping a tired, soot covered hand across her forehead and leaving behind a smudge mark.

There is an old saying among Sarmatians that a Turkmene will not leave his or her Rider. If you see one of us come back to the tent or wagon of our Rider, then you know our Rider has died. Otherwise, we will not abandon the Rider we love.

Farna approached us, her nostrils wide in caution and the white rings around her eyes so wide they almost seemed to resemble a Firemaker's eyes.

She stopped not far from where Ravenwing and I waited.

_::Approach. Don't be afraid::_ I advised her, worried about her unusually wary attitude. Farna was usually almost icy in her cool, collected manners

She was a mess. Her chamfron seemed to have been ripped off, for her bone colored face was scarred by claw marks up her jaws, bloody trails running down her neck and chest.

Various bloody spots showed where claws had scraped, and there was still the broken top of an arrow lodged in one of her flanks.

Her saddle girth had come loose enough for the saddle to roll over so it was almost under her belly, dragging the armed blanket along with it so part of it hung on the ground.

She snorted abruptly at us and tossed her head as if she did not recognize us.

_::She's not all there, not without her Rider,_:: Ravenwing thoughtsent, _::I remember how I felt when I lost my first Rider- like I'd been thrown into a cold and dark storm with no light to guide me. We return to our savage horse selves without our Riders. ::_

_::Farna! Don't you remember me, ma'am? I served under you!::_ I called to her, _::I serve in the Sandspitters.::_

She rolled her eyes and reared up a little, but then thumped back onto her four legs, grunting in pain from the arrow wound, I assume.

"Farna," Gatalas said softly as he stood up and stumbled toward me to borrow my eyes. He leaned against me, "Be at ease."

His voice was like magic, soft and gentle. It reminded me of warm sunlight streaming onto my shoulders, of the scent of summer grass as it rose into a summery afternoon. I knew he had a way with horses- both he and Darya did. It was something that expanded to other creatures, and it was no surprise to me that little Darya wanted to be a herd warden for the cattle and sheep and goats.

It must have worked on poor Farna, for she twisted her ears toward the noise and stood still, nostrils flaring, pulling in scents.

She then bucked and kicked in place, nervous. I could tell from her actions the deep-rooted horse instinct wanted to run and run from the mad loss, but the Turkmene part of her longed for contact and stability from a friend.

"That's it, Farna. _ Solh, zuleikah, solh_," Gatalas' rough voice reached out to soothe, its tendrils of sound pure kindness.

It worked its simple, plain magic. Ravenwing let his breath out in a relaxed sigh. Kourosh wagged his tail hopefully. Setareh loosened her tensely-held shoulders. And a small purr thrummed from the basket attached to Ravenwing's harness.

Farna pawed the ground with a front hoof and tossed her head again, eyes now more blue than white. That was a good sign.

"_Khoob, khanoum,_" Gatalas breathed softly.

::_Your Rider is wise::_ Ravenwing sent to me, _::Good for him to refer to her as a lady. She has to be reminded of her position as the commander's war mare. Even if he is gone, she is still tied to his memory.::_

I felt love for my Rider, my simple and wild-looking Rider who so many misjudged for his strange blind eyes and shaggy barbarian appearance.

_::Good on you, ape face.::_

He smiled at that comment but continued talking to Farna, calling her a beauty, a lady, a noble hearted warrior who was needed. Somewhere in there he even sang a little song that horsemen sing to soothe frightened foals.

It seemed to work, and Farna finally walked up to us Turkmenes, dancing every once in a while. Her hide would twitch and shudder, and I knew it was her resisting that White Panic instinct.

"_Khoob_, Farna. Good. We need to get that harness off you. If you want to run away after that, it's your choice, but we HAVE to get the harness off you before your beautiful hide grows around it. There's a lady. Good. Good."

He leaned against me and stuck out his hand in the way Sarmatian horsemen are taught from the moment they feed their first childhood pony scraps of leftover bread: arm out, hand open flat, palm up, showing there was no weapon. Though blind, Gatalas looked away- another horseman's trick.

We foals drink in ancient knowledge along with our dams' milk, and one of those wisdoms is that creatures who have eyes in the front of their head are enemies- those who kill and eat horses. When such a being looks directly at you, it is a sign he or she is marking you and will attack. When a Sarmatian Firemaker looks away, he is showing he is giving you the chance to flee and he means no harm.

That ancient Firemaker horseman trick worked, and Farna stopped in front of him, sniffing his hand with loud snuffling noises.

She remained there, not placing her muzzle in his hand- this was not a Bond, but she was showing that she would trust him for the moment.

"Good, lady," Gatalas reached up slowly and placed a calloused hand on Farna's neck, now crooning nonsense words, but words that soothed, "Saa. Saa. Hoh. Hoh."

She let him calm her and move his hand to her harness. Blind as he was, his nimble fingers knew all the straps and buckles, and he pulled them loose, letting the beautifully tooled saddle and harness drop to the ground.

Farna let out a sigh and moan of relief- the unnaturally reversed saddle girths had, indeed, been cutting into her hide. As she did, Ravenwing and I quickly moved in to mindlink with her.

To our surprise, we were joined by a third mindlink- weak and silvery, but one as earnest as ours to reassure.

_::Good on you, kitten:: _ I told Lux, surprised that he would decide to Mindlink, given his shock.

_::I want to, Eyeful. I know how it feels to be alone and in pain. You gave me some light. All of you. Now I want to help you give her some light.::_

_::You're all right, grasshopper.:_: Ravenwing sent to the little dragon, who now stuck his long head out of the basket and rubbed it against Ravenwing 's side with a little purr.

Surprisingly, honest work with the hands is an antidote for helping Firemakers cope. Taking care of Farna did wonders for Gatalas and Setareh. The two of them rubbed her down and cleaned her wounds with some vinegar. Setareh's blacksmith skills paid off in the efficient way she pulled the arrow from Farna's hip. Farna took it like a chieftain's war steed. She let out a growling noise of pain, but otherwise remained stoic.

In general, horses don't show much pain. It's one of our survival instincts to keep predators from marking us as weak targets.

The Firemakers doctored her with some of the tribal healer's ointment to cleanse and soothe her wounds, using bandages where they could. They counted one arrow wound and seven dragon-claw scars. Farna had been fighting like the devil to protect her ride.

Setareh tried to feed Farna a handful of the dried power feed we Turkmenes eat as trail rations. Most of us love it as much as bread (well, almost, fresh-baked bread is still the winner). The cream colored mare sniffed at the handful of rations and sighed, but she refused to eat them. She did allow Setareh to lead her, arm around a long equine neck, to the ravine creek for some water. It was ashy and foul with smoke, but it was the best available.

Farna's thoughts were jumbled at first: sensations of _fear-fear-fear-run-run-run_ and of fire and smoke. She did not have coherent thoughts, yet, but as she relaxed she began showing us images. This was the simplest form of thought speech, the one most animals are capable of.

She remembered yelling and neighing, and we caught a thought about Banadaspos yelling commands bravely from on her back. And then he was crouching between her front legs on the ground, shouting orders, rallying his troops. And then Farna lying down on her side, begging him to use her body as a shield. And Banadaspos laying a hand on his partner's jaw and then kissing her muzzle in a loving farewell to a fellow soldier as they faced the end, together.

Heat rose, thunderous wings from the sky, and flames. Farna waited for the fire to descend on her and eat her hide and flesh. But something swooped over and then away, somehow leaving her.

And then smoke and darkness and Farna waking up, on the ground, to realize she was the only living creature on a hill strewn with the dead. A bony hand clenched on her neck harness, gripping to her hand grip in a final embrace. She knew Banadaspos was gone. She knew it.

And yet she felt a strange feeling in her deepest Turkmene senses that she should not leave him. Turkmenes never abandon their Riders while they are alive, but if they are dead, they go back home to tell the others of their Rider's passing. And, in rare cases like Ravenwing's, they may bond with another Rider- life and cycles go on, and if a Turkmene can continue to serve for good, there may be another Firemaker who will bond with him or her.

But something powerful in her soul told her she should remain here, though she knew Banadaspos had passed on, and his fire-burnt hand on her harness became cooler like the earth by the river banks.

She then saw wild-looking Firemakers moving among the smoke, probing our brothers and sisters for anything of value and, often, deliberately mutilating a corpse of a Firemaker or Turkmene with axe blows, rendering burnt bones into piles of disconnected bones. This seemed to have a symbolism, Farna guessed, a sense of finalism and revenge. And can a body be reborn if it is scattered?

Farna could not leave, so she played dead, feeling ashamed of it, but also respecting her instincts.

The Firemakers smelled of blood and fire and violence, and also very unwashed. It sickened Farna, as our Firemakers do clean themselves as regularly as they can with steam baths. But she steeled herself and remained still as the vile smelling Firemakers moved through the battle site.

They saw Banadaspos and Farna, but they did not hurt either of them. Apparently something about the way Banadaspos still was holding onto Farna from her neck grip frightened them. It seemed eerie, so other than cutting off Banadaspos' head, they did not harm either of them.

Of course that released Banadaspos from Farna's neck harness. Farna lovingly nuzzled his blackened corpse in farewell and then moved off. But the feeling that she needed to remain for her Rider was strong in her, so she remained, ghostlike, not far from Banadaspos.

However, the madness of bond separation was starting to overtake her by the time our little group came onto the scene. Luckily, we interacted in time for her to pull her shaken wits back together.

Gatalas knew we were not going to go much further today, and we all needed to rest after our shock, but we needed to get away from the graveyard and get into hiding. If it stopped raining and the dragons attacked, well, my dears, that would not be a lovely prospect.

Farna resisted leaving at first, and who could blame her? She had that geas laid on her to stay by her Rider. We all knew how strong her will was. Something in her would make her wait by her Rider's corpse and refuse to eat or drink until she faded away into death.

Ravenwing and I argued strongly with her, begging her to remember she was the Lead War Horse, even if her Rider had died. We came to some mental blows and shared some words I won't repeat here, but we wanted Farna to see that she was still needed. Eventually Farna retreated from us and let herself fall asleep for a few moments as our Riders packed the goods and made ready to move on.

When Farna woke up again, she was still upset at leaving her Rider behind.

_::After all, I am waiting for my Rider. I know I have to wait for my Rider.::_ She told us sadly and wearily, her thoughts starting to form clear words again _:: I know he is gone, but something tells me I must wait for my Rider.::_

Eventually she did come with us, after coming to a mental agreement with the Great Whatever in the Sky she was communing with that she needed to fulfill her obligation to her Rider by coming along with us as we rode from the battlefield.

We would leave with a lot of regrets, but it was necessary. Our comrades had given a lot there on that hill. We needed to make sure their last gift was acknowledged and appreciated- and used in our next missions.

So we rode out from that sad hill, Setareh singing a sad song of farewell, but a hope our fallen comrades would meet us again one day- another time, another place.

We made a sad procession as we rode onward, Farna limping after us. The beautifully tooled saddle and armor was rolled up and added to my load since Ravenwing was now carrying Lux and the basket. It was not that heavy- Setareh had done her work well to make harnesses and armor that were durable but also light to bear.

I had not been very close with the Side Stranglers, but I had admired their style and their fierceness in battle- and their incredibly lovely uniforms (I am a lady, can't help loving fashion trends!)

So, as we rode away, I remembered some of this brave unit. I remembered a roan mare who told lovely jokes to buck us up in our journeys. I remembered a very acrobatic bay gelding whose battle kick- especially the Leap of the Goat- inspired us all. He was the ultimate Turkmene warrior. I remembered Side Strangler Riders who sang lovely songs about love and family and the joy of small things in life the night before we rode into battle. And that eager young Draco holder and his equally eager Turkmene gelding- two lives cut short when they were just beginning their journey into adulthood.

_Oh, brothers and sisters in your beautiful blue and green armor- and your blue-and green armored Riders. I will miss you all. I hope you find peace in your afterlife and that I will meet your souls again_.

* * *

We found a cave to overnight in, and we all sheltered there. It was damp, but not too uncomfortable. Certainly, a much nicer place to hang our helmets than outside, where it was now raining quite hard.

Except for some bats in the roof, it was uninhabited.

We all liked bats- something about them reminds Sarmatians of little dragons- so we took it as a good luck sign that they would let us share their home for the night

They must have picked up on our quiet moves and good intents, since they did not flee. I wondered if they would fly out in the night for hunting, but I was not sure if they hunted when it rained. No w their eyes gleamed like jewels in the flickering light of the sad, soggy fire that Setareh and Gatalas managed to start.

At that point, Farna then let herself drop onto the ground in the reclining position Turkmenes sometimes use to sleep. We don't lie on our sides- that's slightly ever so fatal, but we do sometimes sleep in a curled up sitting position.

The fire gained some more fuel and courage, and it rose into a respectable enough cooking fire. Soon enough, the Firemakers and erected a camp tripod were boiling a small pot of water and slicing in pieces of lahndi, the dried, salted lamb meat that made up the brunt of their trail rations. A few hand toss of barley, dried onions and root vegetables and soon the soothing smell of hot stew filled the cave.

Gatalas often made this "roving stew" often on the trail. I had come to associate it with warm fires, sparkling stars in a night sky and the companionship of dragons or caravans we met with our work. So, even though, I am (mostly) vegetarian, the soup's smell did wonders to soothe my soul as the scent wafted through the damp cave.

Meanwhile, we Turkmenes, unsaddled and brushed down now wore woven nosebags, each containing few handfuls of the power feed. This is a sturdy, practical protein dried mixture of alfalfa, barley, eggs, mutton fat and a type of fried dough honey-cake. (Yes, I know I am a horse, but mutton fat won't kill me- especially if there is no high protein grain available).

I usually enjoyed munching on it because of the blending of the summery alfalfa and the honey flavors was so pleasant on the palate. It just lent that certain umph to the day. But now it just was a heavy lump in my mouth, and I gnawed it in silence.

Farna refused to eat it, still. She sighed sadly, snorted and just closed her dull eyes, lowering her chin to the cave ground. She was fading into her own world of sadness.

Kourosh whined softly, picking up on her sorrow in his own kind hearted canine way.

I was getting worried- when had Farna last eaten? We were going into cold region- she needed the energy and the "stick to the ribs" goodness of the power feed to keep her warm.

Ravenwing, however, flicked his ears back for a moment and tossed his head at me. I picked up his general thoughts, unvoiced ones, but still tossed gently in my direction. Farna had suffered a terrible loss, and it was not unheard of for Turkmenes to refuse food or water, mourning a dead rider. They would slip away mentally into their own peaceful sorrow, quietly fading away from life.

Also it was often vice versa for a human who had lost his or her Turkmene.

_::I know you mean well, Eyeful, but this is Farna's choice.:: _ Ravenwing's rough voice stroked through my mind, seasoning with his greater wisdom, _::We have to respect it.::_

I knew he was right, but watching a fellow Turkmene go through the Final Passage is not an easy experience. I still found it odd that she seemed to think her Rider was alive, while at the same time she was mourning his death.

What strange things seemed to be at work, here?

* * *

_::Marha's holy dragon, lad, if you keep shivering like that you're going to make that basket come alive!::_ Ravenwing's voice nudged my awareness with his irreverent humor_, ::Come out and get warm, will ya, before you make that basket scream for mercy. Besides, we're cold, too. It's huddle time!::_

_::Yes, sir!::_ I told Ravenwing, slipping up from and out of the basket and limping over to where the Turkmenes were resting together. I pretended to be casual, but I was secretly grateful. Some chill had wriggled into my spirit upon seeing those poor dead Firemaker/Monsters and their odd looking companions. (_Oh, yes, of course- Turkmenes- that is what I need to call them_, I told myself.)

The red-furred_ female-who-looked male_ Firemaker came up to me with a thin, cold metal bowl filled with steaming goodness. She split her lips from her teeth in a gesture of happiness, but I could see her deep blue eyes contained no joy.

She gave me a little dip of the body, something I picked up on as a gesture of respect.

A thought pushed at my mind, and I heard Ravenwing chuckling in my mind, ::_You're being invited, Lux. My Rider wants you to have dinner, and she knows you're worried. She wants you to relax. She knows you're a good critter. She does not see you like the other dragons. And she's worried about them, too. She's a Sarmatian. She loves dragons.::_

_::Not if she knows what's good for h-h-:_: I started to say, but the smell of the.. the... the... oh, dear._ That smells lovely! Let me at it! Incoming Lux!_

The metal bowl rang on the cave floor as Ravenwing's Rider set it down. I limped up to it, feeling a slink and grace to my body that had not been there yesterday- I must getting better!

I flicked out my tongue to taste the scent and could not suppress a purr of pleasure. Then I started to lap up the thick liquid, and wonderful sensations of taste pulsed through me. It was so warm, so chewy, so liquid, so... divine!

_::It's just camp rations, kitten!:: _Ravenwing laughed while Eyeful nickered in humor.

_::Hey, mister! This is paradise to me! You try living on water and rotten food for a while- ever had weevils or worms in your food? I think I got introduced to every species of wriggling critter that ever existed, all happily living in my food- if you want to call it food. Trust me, it may be extra protein, but it does NOT taste good. And you just get sick and throw up afterwards, so you're hungry all over again. Might as well have not bothered eating! This, now, _this_ is warm, and fresh, full of flavors. It is good and rich- and so perfect. I want to PURR! Yes! Thank you, Firemaker/Monsters!::_

A moment of silence and then Ravenwing nickered, :_:Thanks for that, kid. Sometimes I need to be reminded how lucky I have been. It's so easy to forget that the smallest pleasures in life are important.::_

I licked a paw and scraped some precious gravy from where it had coated on my muzzle, _:: Any meal I can eat that it is warm and good and fresh... than I am a lucky Smart Ass Dragon, indeed.::_

The Firemaker remained crouched in front of me, watching me carefully.

_::Setareh:: _I heard in my mind, _::My name: Setareh. Do you have a name?::_

I trembled a bit from the invasive thoughts, but they were welcome and full of warmth. So I found myself relaxing.

_::Good, kitten:: _Ravenwing chuckled, _::Told you she's been trained how to approach your People. Up to you how you respond. Just want you know, though, kid, she's only asking to talk to you- not to own you or control you. She's Sarmatian- she knows dragons better than that.::_

The black gelding whinnied in a soft sound oddly like Firemaker laughter, _::Besides, grasshopper, she's bonded to me. She's my Rider. She's already experiencing the absolute perfection of Bonding that there can be since she is bonded to, well, a great and mighty warhorse like me. You're small barley grains compared to my magnificence::_

He preened and cocked his strong neck in a way that was meant to be joking, but I could still see what a beautiful, magnificent warrior he was. A tall, slender but strong war horse whose hide gleamed midnight with bright glints of blue. He was proud of himself, proud of his Rider and happy with their bond.

And he wanted me to realize that what his Rider offered was friendship, nothing more. But, being Ravenwing, he threw in some irreverent sarcasm free of charge.

My admiration for him leapt up a few more notches, if that was possible.

So, I was not surprised to find myself summing up new found abilities and sending _::Greetings... Rider of Ravenwing. Sat- Air - Ray. I am .. Lux. I am a spark of light. And I am a Smartass Dragon. At least until I find ou_t_ what dragon I really am.::_

Setareh laughed, a low, rich laugh that had me purring, _::Good sense of humor, Lux-spark. But I think you are more than a Smart Ass dragon.::_

_::More? Well, who knows, Sat-Air-Ray? Maybe I will show that Smart Ass Dragons are something that will be a name all will praise and honor.::_

_::Given your courage and determination, Lux, I think that is very possible. But, still, there are prettier names out there than Smart Ass Dragon.:: _

She bowed again to me. I found myself wishing she held out a hand that I could rub against it, but I was- at the same time- rather grateful that she did not.

Some part of me still was repulsed by being near Firemaker/Monsters. Even if she and Eyeful's Rider had been so kind to me.

So, I was grateful for her bow. And, to my surprise, I nodded my head to her and was able to drop a bit on my non injured front leg to imitate her bow. _::Thank you for the meal, Sarmatian priest. And, I hope I will make the word and idea of a Smart Ass Dragon one of great honor.::_

She picked up the now clean-licked plate, _::I think I believe you, Lux. And you are welcome for the meal. Thanks for joining us on our journey.::_

She slipped back to the side of Eyeful's Rider, where he was now cleaning food containers with boiling water and a solution that made bubbles when dipped into water. I was tempted to try to chase after the bubbles, but I felt tiredness coming on.

Eyeful had me snuggle between herself and the sad bone colored Turkmene, and we all fell asleep as the fire burnt low.

During the night, Eyeful's Rider called out once and woke us, crying something that Eyeful listened to, her ears leveled back.

::This brought back some memories:: She whispered to me in mind speech, _:: I so wish he would share them. He calls the same name, always, a "Gatayut" In Sarmatia, each child is given part of his or her father's name as part of his or her own. I hate that I violate the code of my Rider, but his name is Gatalas.::_

_::I know that:: _I thought back calmly, :_: I've heard you mentioning his name to Ravenwing.::_

_::True, true. I could not help it, but it is an error on my part. His name is not mine to give. I regret that. I only hope it will help him in the long run.::_ She sighed, _::Anyway, what is done is done, and I hope he forgives me. So you know: Gatalas is the son of Gatretes. His sister is nicknamed, Darya, but her real name is Gatadarya.::_

Eyeful's voice remained sad, ::_That is why I think my Rider is remembering someone in his family he lost long ago... a sibling named Gatayut.::_ She snorted, ::_Just a theory on my part. I'm one who likes thinking and inventing. But this is only a guess I have. I cannot push my Rider, but I hope he tells his tale one day. I think he had a sibling he will not mention he lost when he lost his eyesight. And, I think he blames himself for it.::_

Eyeful's thoughts were echoed by Setareh who leaned from her bedroll, curled near Ravenwing, to reach out nearby and touch Eyeful's Rider on the forehead, where he lay curled in his bedroll by Eyeful.

She whispered something and then reached over to hug him, gently, like a mother soothing a scared child.

He relaxed in her arms. She crooned a song to him and then gently released him, touching his forehead like a last breath of best wishes.

Eyeful's Rider fell into deeper sleep and we all felt more relaxed for it. It seemed strange how our whole little group seemed connected and united by each other's feelings.

* * *

When I woke up in the morning, I was strangely rested, and also strangely cold along my right side. I opened my eyes to see there was a whole lot of interesting empty space that had not been there when I fell asleep.

_::She's gone:: _Eyeful was saying to Ravenwing, worry in her normally hoarse and ugly and calm voice, _::I heard her leaving the cave last night. I woke up and saw her slip out. She and I looked at each other and, like a ghost, she slipped into the night.::_

My sleep-filled mind woke up a bit, then, realizing that the Bone-Knapper white Turkmene was now gone, escaping on her own to claim her destiny mourning her Rider.

Such as it was.

_::It's Farna's choice::_ Ravenwing sent back, flicking his tail in stoic acceptance,_ ::You know she needs to go back to the caravan and share the news her Rider is gone::_

_::Yes!:: _Eyeful was irritated and pawed the cave floor, sending up an amazing display of- well, nothing-no sparks, no light gloves, no steam. Just the sound of hoof hitting damp stone. Boring.

Caves are dramatic in and of themselves, but they don't lend to dramatic speech moments, _::I figured she would go home, but she still kept insisting she was waiting for a Rider.::_

_::Banadaspos is- errh- _was_ her Rider, see? She _has _to go back to the caravan to let them know he is gone:: _Ravenwing reiterated.

_::I know, Ravenwing, honey. I know. But she still felt her Rider was alive. What if she just goes to the battlefield again and waits for him until she dies, a poor, noble living statue to the memory of Banadaspos?::_

_::That's crazy, Eyeful! Even her own memories showed he died.::_ Ravenwing nipped at Eyeful's neck in gentle reprimand

_::You're right, Ravenwing.. But, sir... she still believes her Rider is alive and searching for her. I can't deny it... and, I think, neither can you! You are more perceptive in this area than I, gelding!::_

They seemed to argue a bit more, though it solved nothing, and their Riders had them move on, so they left the cave- me in the basket strapped again to Ravenwing's side, and Eyeful carrying Farna's harness.

Farna, though vanished in the night, seemed to fill everyone else's thoughts.

Those thoughts kept us company as we moved up north and west, heading for the green-blue-gold forested mountains on the horizon.

Light broke through watery clouds as we rode onwards.

My leg was feeling even more limber and it no longer had a dull ache in it when I tested my weight on it. I seemed to be healing quite fast, faster than expected based on the little gasp Eyeful's Rider made when Eyeful told him about my actions. He made that funny sharp sound humans can make by forcing wind through their rather unimpressive fangs.

The light gave some more hope to the gray landscape, and I felt my heart rise again as we rode further from that small ravine of sorrow. I thought about poor Farna and if she had gone back there to stand guard over her Rider's remains until she faded away.

I know it was her choice, but it seemed so sad she felt no will to live anymore. I know there were so many times I had wanted to die when I was imprisoned by the River Rats/Monsters. All those nights lying in my own blood or vomit and, all too often, my personal waste. Quite a few of those nights, I lay hoping my breath and heart would stop. Wondering if I held my breath or if I slit my throat open with a paw… would there finally be relief?

But there would be that deeper sense that dying was so… well… final. What lay on the other side? If there were only nothing, then was that like giving up on myself? If there were a cold afterlife for those who did not die in honorable warfare like I heard the River Rats discuss did I really want that, drifting about lonely and cold for eternity? Was dying worth that? Maybe there was an afterlife where I would have been warm and loved, but if I took my life, would I be denied that? Was my life even mine to take?

I think what kept me going was that feeling that, if I stayed alive and took my chance to escape, there was hope of a new life. But if I let myself die, then I would never have that hope of a second chance.

And then I got sicker and weaker until I did get very sick. Weak as I was, though, I did escape from the Monsters when fate gave me the chance. The sickness did me in, weakening me more, and I believe I was dying when Eyeful and her Rider found me. But I was dying in freedom. And that made a difference.

And, unexpected, almost as if I _had_ died, I had been born into this strange new life as a traveling companion to strangely benevolent Monsters and their odd creatures who flew so fast without wings.

I'm glad I chose life and to fight hard to stay alive.

I must have thought that as an unintentional mind send because Ravenwing whickered softly _::That's the spirit, trooper. If there is hope at all of life, then cling to it. You're a young 'un, and you need to claim your future rather than let it claim you. You did the right thing.::_

I sneezed at some water drops that bounced off a tree we trotted under. _::What about Farna? I worry about why she is giving up.::_

_::It's a hard thing for us to lose our Rider. And for a Rider to lose his Turkmene . When you share thoughts and are so compatible, it feels like losing part of yourself when your partner dies. I went through it when my former Rider died.::_ Ravenwing said matter of factly

_::You had another Rider? I thought it was one Rider and one Turkmene…::_

_::Usually, but in some rare cases- especially where one partner is much older than the other, the survivor bonds with another partner. There usually is a good reason for it. I think that's what happened with Setareh and me.::_

Ravenwing's hooves made squelching sounds as he trotted through a path of mud and lead mold. He was so surefooted that he never once slipped.

_::My first Rider was an old warrior, and I was a young and proud gelding. I learned a lot from him about battle manners and tactics. His calmness became my calmness, and his ability to laugh at the enemy in defiance matched mine so well. He was a man to admire, and unfaulting in his care of me. I was honored to serve with him as a friend. I like to think he was passing on knowledge to me that serves me well now, as Setareh's Turkmene. ::_

::_How did he…?::_ I asked softly

_::The way he always wanted. He got the Ice Joints that Firemakers get in their older years and it was harder for him to stay on a horse. One evening, after a sickness, he and I rode off from the camp to go "hunting". His family and friends seemed to know what was actually up, but they let him go, everyone hugging him one last time. We rode all day and took one magnificent race against a falcon. In the evening we slept by a fire, talking about the stars and their beauty. The next morning, I awoke and he had passed on in his sleep, just gazing at the stars forever. _

_::I rubbed his face one last time and trotted back to camp. When all saw me waiting by the family wagon, they knew my Rider had died, and they went to bury him. There was sorrow, but also joy that he was one of the few who had lived to be an Elder and died a free man. I was in mourning and refused to eat for many days.::_

Ravenwing was quiet for a moment, visiting a past open only to him ::_Then I saw the lonely, sick girl who had just survived a fever, who had been touched by Marha, it was said. And I felt no hesitation when I saw her resting in the sun outside her relative's wagon. I walked up to her and laid my head on her shoulder and asked to bond with her. She was surprised but hugged me, and I felt life in my soul again- and my neck felt awful wet from tears.::_

_::Ravenwing, come on!::_ Setareh laughed and ruffled her friend's mane, _::I was crying for both of us. Horses can't cry, so I was doing you a favor, my captain!::_

::_That's your excuse, is it? Well, horses also can't vomit or hiccup. No stupid things like that for us! We are full of pride and dignity unlike our Fire- oof! That hurt.::_

_::Wimpy warhorse. Can't take it like a woman::_

_::You bullies are all the same. Think you can solve everything with your fists. Go pick on someone your own size—oh, right, there are no dragonflies out here- oof! ::_

_::Oh, sorry. I was trying to hit a dragon fly and didn't see you there, poor little, Turkmene.::_

_::Ever wonder what it feels like to fly? I'd be happy to show you, Setareh.::_

I listened to this surprisingly snide exchange and then realized it was all in good humor. There was warm love for each other in their teasing.

I then thought it was obvious that Ravenwing, with his protective, confident, almost parental affection made a good companion for his often absent Minded young blacksmith priest. An experienced war horse also was good protection for her on her long journeys, as was the formidable hunting dog who now loped by Ravenwing's side.

Afternoon set in and the autumn sun began to coax some dryness into the ground. The terrain remained ridge like swells climbing up and marching down to interludes of flat ground where we would gallop.

The green and gold furred hills in the distance were beginning to get clearer and clearer as we moved closer.

Suddenly Gatalas and Eyeful took off into a gallop. I felt myself tense and heard Kourosh give a sharp bark and then take off after the mare.

_::At ease, trooper:: _ Ravenwing told me, _::Stand down. This is normal procedure. You'll see.::_

Brown blurs exploded from golden grass. A bow sang out, and then Eyeful was trotting in a circle. Kourosh dove into the grass and emerged, carrying a brown and white bird in his mouth.

_::Dinner for the Firemakers- and Kourosh- and you, of course. This journey is gonna involve a good deal of grabbing and grubbing- fresh meat and grass is always the better option- and Eyeful and her Rider are among the best hunting team. We won't go hungry with them.::_

I thought about that and felt a twinge of guilt. These Firemaker/Monsters had been so nice to me. They had washed me, healed my wounds and fever, fed me, kept me warm. They protected me and treated me as a friend, not a pet or a prisoner. What had I done for them? How could I contribute to this mission? Sure, they thought I was cute when I attacked grass blades and jumped after insects, but I wanted to be more meaningful than just cute and funny.

I think that's the reason I went after the prey when I saw it. It was my chance to bring something useful to the night's campfire.

It happened during a water break at a stream near some white and red lined bluffs. Setareh helped me out of the basket so I could take care of a few things that don't need to be described in great detail.

Ravenwing did teach me a few terms Sarmatians would say as polite cover ups for going to relieve your bladder in the woods. I think my personal favorites were "I'm going to go bird watching now" and "I'm going to go talk to a man about a horse."

I wondered if dragons have similar words and what they would be, and this was on my mind as I lapped up water from the stream and then limped back to my companions. I noticed I was bouncing along quite nicely, picking up my three good legs smartly, and my long, sinuous body would ripple up and down as I trotted. It was a sweet rhythm.

And the air became slightly full of rabbit.

Nice. Even if the air was slightly rabbity, the fragrance was more than enough for me.

I saw the freshly killed rabbit laid out on the ground, smelling so good and rich. I flicked my tongue, tasting the air. The strange sensors along my face and head thrummed a bit, and I suddenly got impressions of fresh, salty good blood, rich, warm flesh, rich organs, good fat. This rabbit had just been killed a few moments ago.

I had eaten enough rotten and tainted meat to know when meat is bad, and I could scent nothing in this meat other than what good ole nature intended. This was safe to eat. Better yet- someone had killed it and laid it right here for a clever dragon kitten like me to take back to my friends.

Oh, how they would praise me and be so impressed by my cleverness! (The "smart" in Smart Ass Dragon has to come from somewhere)! And I would be so proud I pulled my weight and contributed to tonight's meal. And I didn't even have to try that hard.

Sometimes I am so clever I startle myself.

Not.

There is truth behind those ancient words that all living creatures have known since the first lowly, slimy bit of life slithered its way from the primordial ooze into the great big world.

There Ain't No Such Thing as a Free Lunch.

I came up to the wonderful rabbit and took its neck scruff in my jaws, lifting it up and thinking, _Hello dinner! Nice to meet you! Nicer to eat you._

Imagine my surprise when the ground erupted around me, exploding in dusty clouds around my head. I squeed in surprise and felt something smashing against me. I dropped the rabbit and found myself rolling and rolling, my tail curling over my head.

I rolled up against a hard object- a tree root, maybe, and found myself on my back, enjoying an amazing upside down view of the world set against the frame of my tail, draped around my head. Great.

"Lux! No!" I heard Eyeful's Rider's voice float through the dirt and then there were thudding hooves- two sets of them.

My upside down viewpoint showed a cloud of dull blurs- brown and gray, mostly, that suddenly swarmed around the upside down Turkmenes as they galloped towards me. Sparks of fire leapt in the dust, one giving a mighty FWOOOOM!

That one glanced off the bluff and rocks exploded. Suddenly the air in front of the two Turkmenes was swimming with small brown and grey and dull green creatures, creatures of fire and wings and claws.

_::Dragons!::_ I gasped in a mixture of sadness and joy. Great to see dragons. And, ever so annoying to see they were attacking my friends.

This was getting to be really irritating.

At least these fluttering, screeching creatures were tiny- not much larger than I, but there were a lot of them, and with their humming wings and warning bursts of flames, they came across as something like a swarm of bees. I could see the way they harassed Eyeful and Ravenwing. Eyeful's Rider could only smack his hands at them. He had his bow drawn, at first, but they were so small and fast moving, he had no chance of hitting them.

They had every chance of hitting him, however, and one did, blasting the bow from his hands with a nasty strip of fire.

Gatalas yowled in pain and anger and dropped the bow before it burst into flames. Eyeful neighed in anger and reared up to strike at the swarm of dragons. If it weren't for the strange iron pedals, her Rider would have fallen off her as he pressed his injured hand to his chest, growling in pain.

Instead Eyeful was the one who fell, since suddenly there was a thick rope of vines wrapping around her hind legs. The heavy vine rope was weighted on either end by a rock. She thudded onto all fours, just to have another set of a rope weighted by rocks wrap around her front legs, pinning them together. The impact of the blow threw her off balance she was knocked on her side.

Her Rider rolled off her and lay on his back, stunned by pain and the impact. Eyeful fought to stand up, uttering some thoughts that were not at all dainty and ladylike, but the two simple ropes- one binding the back legs and one the front legs- had effectively hobbled and downed her.

:_:If it weren't for these thrice bitten dragons, I'd swear I'd tried to invade the city of Byzantium!:: _Eyeful snarled, :_:Guess if you don't go to the Great Prison, it comes to you!::_

"Or this is the Great Prison's dragon ghetto!" Gatalas hissed in anger, "And I'd rather like to know who taught these guys to use horse bolas!"

Loud yelping and then Kourosh was on his side, his legs tied up in a matching set of smaller bolas.

_::They make horse bolas in dog size, too!:: _ Eyeful snarled in thought speech, _::I think we just hopped into the Realms of the Insane. I'm ready to wake up now, please!::_

I then heard Ravenwing let loose some even less delicate and terribly savage thoughts as Setareh tried to pull out the Draco and hold it over her head.

The intentions were good, but Ravenwing stepped back right into a vine-rope that had suddenly appeared behind him. He tripped on it and fell onto his back.

The two little dragons who held either end of the rope released it and flew upwards, letting out a hissing sound I could only identify as laughter.

_::Awww, crap! When I want your opinion, dragons, I'll give it to you!::_

Setareh barely rolled off his back in time as he dropped to the ground, the Draco falling from her arms. It conveniently rolled far enough way from the forge priest so that she could not grab it. Well, at least not without getting covered in attacking dragons.

A ring of the dull colored, dragons dropped around my companions, now all made helpless within minutes. They watched the Draco with wide, mostly golden eyes, flicking their tongues to scent the air. A few little chuckle-purrs punctuated the silence, but mostly they observed us quietly.

They turned out not to be many- no more than the number of claws on all my paws, but they had seemed a greater force. And they had managed to knock down two tall horses and their powerful and clever Riders in a matter of moments.

Best of all, it had been my foolish- but well meaning- moves that had brought them down upon us. Of course no one leaves out a freshly killed animal unless they want to invite you for dinner. The freshly killed decoy would just be an appetizer.

For some strange reason, none of the dragons noticed me from where I had been tossed. So I decided to lie there in my rather embarrassing tail and hindquarters over head position and take in this strange show before me.

Finally, a rose gray and dull brown little dragon stepped to the front. The dragon let out a snarl, and I realized I could read its thoughts.

_::Yo, prisoners. I have no idea if youse can read my thought-speech , being as youse are of inferior species. I will assume da best and expect da worst. Greetings, mates, and thank youse so much for droppin' in. Welcome to our humble fortress, lair of the Amazon Terrors, the feared Sticky Fire People o' dis savage realm! I should remind youse that resistance is futile. We's captured youse. Youse are our slaves. Or youse are our dinner. We's leave da choice ta youse. Once youse acknowledge dese simple facts, I think we'll get along splendidly. Youse may proceed to make up youses mind, now. ::_

Something about the dragon's voice nagged at me, thrummed at something very basic in my sensors. The dragon was speaking very logical words, but there was something interesting about the nuances of the words about warriors. That this was not a typical dragon warrior.

It was a calm but very edgy Eyeful who recovered first and made the Mindlink invitation. The lead dragon snorted at such pagan, cute, peasant customs, but the dragon allowed its Mindspeech to open to Eyeful and the other inferior "non dragons."

_::Thank you for the - uh- warm and thoughtful welcome. It's always nice to have a chat before you disintegrate us.::_ Eyeful said in her husky thought voice, :_:I really do hope, though, that our bloody and spattered remains aren't TOO hard for your dragons to clean up. Us being inferior and non dragons and all. I would hate to think we insulted your kind gesture of hospitality by messing up your beautiful Fortress thingie. Just forgive us, because we did not see any sort of Fortress here, or we would have given this area a wide berth. Now we'd be ever so grateful if you would let us go. We're rather in a-::_

_::Silence, inferior life form!:: _the lead dragon said in its fiercely cute- and very deceptive voice- I had no doubt believing these clever little dragons were very dangerous indeed.

And I was beginning to realize that these skillful fighting dragons all were female. Every single one of them.

Gatalas had reached out his good, unburnt hand to touch against the downed Eyeful's striped shoulder, gaining her eyesight "No need to get personal, your- uh- supreme smallness- uh highnesses, uh, majesties, uh cute fireballs of death, uh -whatever superior label you want me to insert here." Eyeful translated for him, and I heard the spokesdragon chirp in surprise,

The dragon probably had not expected a lowly Firemaker to talk directly to a dragon as though it were intelligent.

_::We's are not cute. Yer not impressing me so far, hairy ape face. Be careful o' what ya say next, Firemaker.::_

"I would guess, based on your appearance, you are kin of the much admired and feared Sticky Fire Breathers", Gatalas said, teeth clenched beyond the pain, but his voice forced into calmness, "What most Firemakers call 'Terrible Terrors.' But I admit we've never seen any as clever as you with using some tricks we Firemakers would use."

_::True:: _ Ravenwing snorted softly, _::They look like Terrors, but their coat colors are so much more- - subdued and dull- compared to what I think of Terrible Terrors.::_

"They don't hide underground either, usually," Setareh picked up on this, still unsuccessfully to reach an arm out for the fallen Draco up, "And they don't use such clever traps and snares as you do, your, uh- magnificence."

_::Don't insult me and my band of brave warriors by comparing us to dose Western lowlife scum_:: snorted the leader, _::I knows of dese Sticky Fire Ones, da ones who live many days' flight from here, where tda land ends in da great island studded ocean, and da sun sinks into da stinkin' ground each night.::_

The dragon lifted a claw and made a show of trimming it with a snap of her very sharp beaked mouth. _::Dey _are_ related to us, yes, sadly. And deir coats are brightly colored, all colors of da friggin' rainbow, oh so pretty. And so dumb. We 's of da Eastern lands say da Sky Lady compensates for deir lack of brains by makin' dem olorful. Makes 'em easier targets and keeps the population under control::_

A moment of silence while the spokesdragon washed her face with a paw, trying to show she found us all incredibly boring and beneath her band of lady warriors' time. :_: We's of da eastern lands have learned much from Firemakers in our wanderin's, enough that we've picked up a few of deir tricks. So we's may be dull in color but we's shine in our ingenuity. We's wanderin' Amazon Terrors are well known and respected in dese parts. My name is spoken by other dragons wit' fear. I am Purple Sonja, dreaded demoness wit' my death bolt flames. And I am the leader of da Amazon Unit, the legendary all-female band of dragon warriors_::

Purple? I did not see a speck of purple on this so-called Sonja's hide? No! Not even purple from bruises. It was perfectly clay-rose brown, gray and gray-green. Nice and dull.

The Firemakers and the Turkmenes must have looked as perplexed as I, for Purple Sonja snorted and snarled, _::Pathetic non dragons You are only seeing the here and now. You are not seeing what lies beyond the surface. We Eastern Terrors are deadly in our colors. You are just not looking hard enough. My purpleness lies within me, and it is a savage purple indeed::_

"All rightie, this just officially got too weird for my comfort," Gatalas muttered and then spoke louder, also amping up his thought speech, "This really is not accomplishing anything, ladies. why don't we just all go home and forget about it, okay? We really are in a hurry and we're sorry we stepped over your amazingly magnificent and totally invisible fortress. Please accept our apology. We'll hunt for you- get you lots of nice things for dinner- things that don't involve us as dinner, of course. And then we'll all be on our way. All right?"

Eyeful translated for him.

_::Silence, talkin' ape! You have no dragon wit' youse and no right to negotiate wit' youses captors.::_

I grunted and dropped onto my side. I lurched onto my feet again and stood up, flicking my hide to shake off any dirt or bark shreds. ::H-_Hello, uh- Purple Sonja, ma'am? _I _am the dragon with this unit! If you have something to say, say it to me! And we'll start with my request to leave my friends alone and stop teasing them. They really did not mean to intrude your - uh- vast realm::_

I expected the battles scarred tough talking little dragon queen to hiss and then spit fire and poison at me.

Instead she took me in as I limped forward and crouched in front of my trapped friends, trying to look like I was shielding them with my scrawny, serpentine body. (I am pretty sure I managed to protect their ankles, anyway).

I remembered to bow, as I had before the black dragon on the Dreampaths. _:: I may be a breath of air or a sting from a fly to you, great warrior dragon, but I mean it when I say, leave my friends alone. **NOW**!::_

The last came out in a bark that was surprisingly loud and deep.

To my surprise the dragon warrior laughed softy, _:: What is dis? Oh, my! A dragon kitten! Oh, sisters, he's just a little kitten! ::_

I gave my amazing roar- the one that sounds like a purring squeak to everyone else. I did not like being insulted.

Purrs all around.

_::Awww, isn't he the most adorable little kitten ever?::_

_::So, cute and trying to be so fierce. Awww.::_

Oh my- they actually were taken in by me! Hooray for the maternal instinct!

_::And he's been hurt. Look at him. Skin and bones, covered in scars and with a shredded ear and a broken leg. Poor little thing, all abandoned with no one to wuv him::_

I swear- that dragoness actually said 'wuv!'

I rolled cutely on my back, batting at the air with my good legs, and I grinned with sweet innocence (not always easy to do) . I purred as I was surrounded by a ring of small but strong dragonesses. I noticed more than a few were wearing some sort of colored designs etched on their hide. I wondered quickly if they had somehow tattooed themselves with their claws.

_::I'm with these Firemakers and their companions_:: I said softly, ::_They're the ones who are taking care of me. They have learned from me well, and are perfectly well trained. I can vouch for their honesty. And it was I who pulled your trap and crossed your empire and invaded your minis- I mean magnificent fortress. Not them. So if you want to kill someone, kill me.::_

I exposed my throat and made myself look as vulnerable as possible.

_::Go ahead. I deserve to die. And I die with honor::_ I made my voice as cutely sweet and sad as possible, _::If you see my mother- wherever she is- tell her that her son died whispering her name.::_

_::Awww, lookit da widdle sweety_.:: Sonja said, _::How could we hurt someone like ya? Ya was just curious, dat's all::_

She nuzzled me and then I felt many dragons licking me.

Behind me I swear I could hear equine and human jaws dropping in surprise.

_::Yes, ma'am::_ I said meekly. Remembering they were females and that I had had some excellent coaching recently, _::And, may I say, fair and well- made broads, your assets are loaded and you have great curves::_

A moment of silence. A purr of surprise, then draconic laughter exploded along the river bank.

_::So precious! Kid, I like youses style::_ Sonja roared, ::_Only a lost little dragon kitten dare to call tough warrior women like us pretty, even if we_'s are_ among the loveliest of our kind, but ya get some credit for tryin'.::_

_::Can I get up now, please?::_ I asked

_::Of course::_ cooed an Amazon, _::Poor little beetle, you must be so hungry and cold and hurting::_

They stepped back and let me on my feet. Then I heard some noises of thumping and of high tension ropy things behind released.

Eyeful and Ravenwing were thumping onto their feet as dragons untied the bolos.

_::Is this a good time to run?:: _Ravenwing asked_, ::I'm for it.::_

_::No. They might outfly us in the state we're in now- I've been lying on the ground with my legs bound up.::_ Eyeful said as she braced herself for Gatalas to stumble onto his feet and lean against her, his burnt hand cradled against his chest, ::_And the circulation in my legs is killing me, in this state. Come on legs! Wake you, will ya?::_

_::Okay, listen up, Firemakers and hump less camels.::_ Sonja thought-sent abruptly, ::_I'm not gonna repeat myself. We've decided to take youses dragon companion's word dat yous can be trusted, and we'll let you on your way. But yous'd better keep youses promise ta hunt us up some dinner. Otherwise, yous'll regret it. Dat's youses payment for us letting youses go. And we'll come wid youse ta make sure yous obey.::_

"Of course" Setareh said, bowing as she also thought-sent those words, "We swear on fire we will hunt dinner for you."

Being that it is an honest vow from a Sarmatian, the Amazons could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes that she meant to keep it.

_::Very well, then. Now let's get hunting. I'm hungry.::_

I padded toward Ravenwing and Setareh, sighing quietly. That was close.

_::Good job, kid!::_ Ravenwing said, bending down to muzzle my. I rubbed against him and purred, _::Though you're going to have to learn when and when not to uh- impress the ladies. It's a good thing you're so cute. They might have been insulted if you were older and less cute::_

I realized, like it or not, my cuteness had wound up being the thing that saved my companions' lives.

As we moved off to go hunting, I heard one of the dragons asking Purple Sonja, ::_Would we really have eaten them? They seem rather hard to kill.::_

::_We's could take 'em sister. But I like dese guys. I think we can trust 'em. Besides, ya have ta admit it's been boring dese last few weeks out here with no one to harass. Dis is da most entertainment we've had in a long while!::_

* * *

**Sarmatian Translations:**

_Solh, zuleikah, solh_- Peace, my beauty, peace

_Khoob, khanoum_, Good, my lady.

Another chapter done. Hope you liked it. I had to move from sad to funny and hope I made a believable transition. And there were some clues about future events planted there, too. I am writing this now in an airport lounge en route to Iceland, and I wish you all safe travels, whether internationally or just down to your local favorite food joint.

Thanks for reading, all!


	11. Ordeal in the Mountains

**Chapter 11-**

**Ordeal in the Mountains**

"The death rate is the same for us as for anybody ... one person, one death, sooner or later."- R.A. Heinlein, _Tunnel in the Sky _

**Disclaimer: **(As I pass through airport security). I need three trays. I put my computer in one. I put my winter rain and windproof coat, Icelandic fleece jacket, shoes, bag of liquids and gels and cell phone in the second one. And, in the third, I put a piece of paper that says : I am writing a HTTYD fanfiction as I travel between the USA and your country. As per your regulations, I am letting you know that Hiccup and Toothless and the Terrible Terrors belong to Dreaworks and Cressida Cowell, not to me." The guards read it over and let me pass, but they laugh at me for being in love with a kiddie cartoon, and I am a grandma who should know better! Where is my cynicism? Why did I choose dragons and Vikings over being cool and sarcastic? Am I a mutant? Well, they let me pass, anyway, but they view me as a mentally damaged lady who could have made something with her life if she had supported something classier, like "Kill Bill" or "Debbie Does Dallas." I hold my head high and tell them I love HTTYD because its style speaks for itself. They let me go through, indicating I have never really been able to grow up. And I smile, knowing I feel sorry for them. Maybe one day they will see the movie, but until then, they mark me as a crazy lil ole lady. Heh. Their loss. **  
**

_**A/N**__- _

_1) Just so you know, the leader of the Amazons- Purple Sonja- speaks with her own unique style. I imitated a "Sopranos"-style New Jersey Mid Atlantic accent. Even though this is totally not historically accurate, I wanted to convey the sense of a tough little lady- a warrior but also very aware of her femininity. The New Jersey accent seemed right for that. Take it with a grain of salt, of course, and hope you enjoy it. It's there to show her personality._

_Youse= plural you or you all. Sometimes used in singular, too_

_We's= we_

_Ya or ye= singular you_

_th sounds (them, this, the)_= use a d sound instead- e.g. this = dis, the = da

2) Dreampath madness- more visits to the Dreampaths! Lux gets to discover some more places in his quest for his identity, and he even learns a few important clues. This time he visits three places on the Dreampaths. Can you guess what they are? One is a popular mythological personality from legends of the Western hemisphere. One represents a storybook series and movie that heavily influenced the HTTYD directors in how to portray the friendship between Toothless and Hiccup. The movie version of this book series actually is both directors' favorite movie of all time. And the third comes from a very popular fan fiction story on this site. The author kindly reviewed my writing and let me use that fanfic's characters for a few moments in my story. Can you guess the fan fiction? I am very grateful and thank the author for letting me play in that author's fan fiction sandbox. After you all have a chance to guess, I will put up the author's and story's name, but for now, THANK YOU to the author. I appreciate it!

3) The intro is a crazy-lovin' homage to the way the Conan the Barbarian and Red Sonja comic stories always begin (lots of references to Atlantis and mountains and skulls, etc. ) It's so corny it makes me laugh in a loving way, so I spoofed it here.

* * *

_:: Know ye, dat in da years between when da oceans drank Atlantis and da gleamin' cities and da years o' da rise o' da Daugthers o' Argyle a great band of warriors roamed da Savage Lands. Dis era, shall ye mark, was da Dawn of da coming of da Bronze-clad Great Hordes of Dey who Wear da Skulls of da Slain…::_

_::Cool::_, Lux breathed, amber, red-flecked eyes gleaming in wonder, _::This sounds awesome… and may I have some more free range haunch of wild boar, please? Clawed from the medium rare portion, if you don't mind?::_

_::Of course, dear. Awwwww, who's a growing boy?::_ crooned one of the Amazons, the delicately- featured one Purple Sonja had identified as Blossom the Butcher, _::How would you like it, Lux? Paw-tossed or freshly regurgitated?::_

Ah, the old "shaken-but-not-stirred" dilemma of dragon hospitality!

_::Ummmmm…, tossed, please, My Lady Sweet Plates- uh-err- I mean, most esteemed, warrior dragoness of the Vast Empire of Amazonia!::_

_::All two acres of it::,_ Ravenwing thought snidely to me, flicking a sardonic black ear.

:_:You're a little cutie, aren't you?:: _Dark-bronze-scaled Sadie the Salacious purred while Blossom the Butcher groomed her own baby-sweet face in modest pride before patting Lux on his wolf-shaped head.

_::Yes'm. If you wouldn't mind, I'd be ever so pleased if you would continue the " Amazon Chronicles Part I: Epic Exploits of the First Sisters of the Scales?"::_

Gatalas chuckled softly, "That's interesting how these Amazons have picked up some of our story telling skills- next thing I know they'll be describing jeweled skulls and flower entwined daggers."

_::And, lo, dese tribes did set many colored stones in the helmets dey made from da skulls of deir enemies, and, to mark deir gender was dere also much twining of flowers around deir claws, sharpened to resemble Firemaker daggers::_ Sonja continued the story, the fire dancing shadows on her claw- tattooed face.

Gatalas, very slowly, lowered his head and smacked a fist against it in the "oh, irony" gesture of the Sarmatians. He glanced in my general direction and gave me a brotherly smile. He flexed his other hand, the burnt one. Setareh had medicated and bandaged it, and hopefully it would heal soon.

_::Ever wonder, oh, ape-faced one, if maybe it was we Sarmatians who borrowed the storytelling tradition from the dragons?::_ I asked softly.

"How could that be, Horsebutt?" Gatalas scratched me affectionately between the ears with his good hand. I leaned in, nudging him to scratch harder.

_::I don't know. I just was proposing an idea. Gotta let this mind of mine out for a romp every now and then.::_

"Could be, could be," Gatalas stretched, "It is something that intrigues me… I never guessed dragons could tell stories- let alone eating meat they roast themselves."

He held up the skewer of boar meat he had been gnawing on, "Dragons eat their meat raw. That, alone, tells me these little ladies borrowed the idea of cooking their meat from Firemakers- along with our weapons technology."

_::I think this sad-fated excursion might have one silver lining:_ _the chance for us to learn more about the dragon People_:: I sighed, memories of our fallen comrades still sitting heavily on my heart _::I wonder how many Sarmatians have actually sat at a dragon-built campfire and listened to a group of she-dragons tell heroic sagas::_

_::One conversation, please!::_ a brown and gray dragoness hissed.

We all silenced, and we Sarmatians were treated to the odd experience of listening to dragons tell their great adventures.

It seemed that dragons were just as inclined as Firemakers to bend the truth a bit into an amazing story.

Jessamine the Juggernaut, who seemed to be more refined than her tough talking Amazon Chief, took up the thread of the story.

_:Our People are the Eastern type of Sticky Fire People, but we are also known as the People of the Clay, a name more respected than that of the People of the Rainbow, who live in the Western Lands. 'Twas said the Night Lady made our People, and she used the finest clays of the Earth. But the Cukkow, Lord of the Trickster Birds, wanted this fine clay to line his mate's nest, so he stole clay when the Night Lady was not looking. _

_::Alas, there was soon no good, solid, strong clay left to make Sticky Fire People, but Cukkow indeed had built a very fine nest. Night Lady was sore indeed, but she had to finish creating the Sticky Fire ones before the First Night of Life-Creation was over. So she clawed some drops from the rainbow and mixed them with dirt to make the clay for the western Sticky Fire People. They came out beautiful and in bright colors. Like the Rainbow their colors sparkle and gleam, but like the Rainbow, their attention span and loyalty fades in and out.::_

_::Sa.,::_ agreed Salacious Sadie, _::All beauty and no brains. We, Amazons, however, have both in great quantities.::_

_::Indeed,::_ Jessamine the Juggernaut thought sent, _::We Terrible Terrors of the East, the Clay People, are the favored of the gods because we were made of the prime materials. Later, the Night Lady punished Lord Cukkow bird by cursing his line so that they no longer have the skill to build nests. Instead, his descendants, now known as cuckoo birds, have to sneak their young into nests of other birds and hope the other birds are foolish enough to raise their child as their own chick_.::

Lux listened , ears tilted to the sides in amazement. He must never have heard a story before. I was a bit envious of him; that moment a child or kitten or foal first hears the magic of a tale and sees it happen in his imagination is a special moment.

_::Stretching back into the fragrant mists of thyme, the People of the Clay roamed the Eastern Lands, raiding settlements and conquering vast swatches of territory…::_

_::Lands so vast a snail could cross them in one minute::_ Ravenwing whisper thought-sent to me, and I clamped my teeth on a laugh-nicker.

_::… and instilling much fear and respect into the hearts of all creatures who dared to inhabit these hills and plains and forests.::_

_::Uh, ma'am?::_ Lux asked softly_, ::How can time be fragrant?::_

_::Not time, cutie pie, _Purple Sonja purred, _ Thyme. Da fragrant mists of thyme. It's a wild-growin' field about three days' flight from here, in the spring, when da mist settles on the blooms, da smells're legendary.::_

_::Oh. I'm so glad you're here to explain these things for me. I was thinking this was a really ancient story, y'know- epic exploits and First Sisters of the Scale and all::_

Purple Sonja lifted a claw in a dismissing gesture and scratched distractedly in the earth near the river, _::Pffff. Hardly. You're lookin' at da First Sisters of da Scale. We's History in da Makin'.::_

"Really," Setareh said softly. She sat cross-legged, Kourosh lying like a fawn colored feline across one leg, his head resting in her lap. She stroked his fine-boned forehead affectionately, and he wore a happy grin, brown-gold eyes closed in contentment, "You're the first all female warrior group among the Sticky Fire Breathers?"

Purrs of agreement rippled among the sixteen Sisters of the Scales (yes, Gatalas had to tell me how many there were- counting is not my greatest talent- we Turkmenes can run fast, but don't ask us how far we run.)

_::We are the first, indeed,::_ Jessamine the Juggernaut's rich and deep thought voice wafted through our minds, _::The Original Band of Sisters. Our people are famous for their exploits, but always have the exploits been tales of bachelor bands.::_

_::Ugh::_ Purple Sonja groaned, and a little spark danced from her muzzle_, ::I was sick of hearin' hero exploits of da bachelors. Their Tales of Terror amounted to little more dan glorified petty vandalism. It's just an excuse for young male Sticky Fire People to run amok and cause chaos in da name of growin' up!::_

Sonja sneezed in contempt and continued dryly, _::Heroic deeds like stealin' da trinkets from bathing Firemakers or filchin' fish from sleeping Self Burners..::_

_::Hrrrh. Don't forget the oh-so-daring dragon graffiti done on the shifting sands of the Gobi Desert, perfectly timed so no one would see it had ever really been etched.::_ a yet un-named solid brown Amazon snorted.

_::More likely done on the shifting sands of their own ego::_ Blossom the Butcher hissed in soft irony.

_::So, it fell upon our brave Purple Sonja to take to task the idea of sending a group of unmated dragonesses out to perform great deeds and show we, females, are, indeed, worthy of bringing honor to the People of the Clay!::_ the brown and gray striped dragoness who had hushed us now purred.

_::Lo, was it indeed a match of wills between we Sisters and the Elder, who thought us crazy,:: _Jessamine flicked her petite, pretty head and crooned softly, ::_ Female Sticky Fire People stay in the flock, learning hunting and nest crafts. We mate for life, but we let our life mate go prove himself on quests. We are not supposed to go on vandal- I mean quests of great adventure and courage.::_

_::And the drakes have all the fun::_ muttered Blossom the Butcher.

Purple Sonja took over again_, ::So's we's sneaked out on a raidin' party. We's used an ancient Firemaker pit trap idea to bring down some Magnesium People. We's scared'em and roughed 'em up a bit until dey agreed wid our generous suggestion dat dey should have the pleasure of goin' huntin' for us.::_

_::And also we made them give us a heartfelt donation of some of their most beautiful shed scales to decorate Fortress Amazonia::_ Jessamine the Juggernaut added.

_::We's returned to our tribe, and the Elder did agree the Amazons were very effective as warriors, so's we's earned her blessin' ta go out as a rovin' band of she-bachelors, doin' great deeds, bringin' back vast riches to our peoples, and earnin' great honor! Except we's are not a Bachelor Herd, we's are a Bachelorette Party!::_

Setareh snorted hard as she laughed behind her hand while Kourosh opened his eyes and gave her a 'you crazy Firemaker' look.

"You ladies are great!" Setareh said when she could speak again, "Bachelorette Party. I like it. Well, you're certainly handy with Firemaker bolas."

Purple Sonja's large nostrils flared as she read the Thought-speech that Setareh sent along with her Firemaker speech.

_::We's worked moons ta master dose bolas! It was quite da thrill sneakin' near Firemaker sheep and cow herders ta watch how da herders were using dem (as well as liberatin' a few nicely filled lunch sacks da Firemakers would not miss. A dragoness hasta eat, youse know.):: _ Purple Sonja said, _::And it took a month more ta make bolas some from vines- but it was a good challenge. We's Sticky Fire People _are_ known for our quick claws.::_

"But how do you rotate the bolas? You need strong shoulders for that." Gatalas asked, leaning against my legs, his warrior's braid snaking across his shoulders as he did so.

_::Right you are, which is why we's use our wing-claws for it. Dat's another difference we's Easterners have compared ta da Rainbow twats of the west: a full set of claws on each wing tip. If our shoulders are strong enough ta beat our wings and rotate dem, dey can flamin'-well rotate a set of bolas, and few's know dat a Sticky Fire Person can use her or his wing claws ta hold objects.::_

As if to stress her point, Purple Sonja stretched out her wings, They unfurled in velvety ripples of two toned (and dull colored) rose-grey, and gray-green. The wing claws at the top actually wiggled humorously, like a Firemaker waggling his fingers to loosen the joints for pulling a bow string.

"That's so weird I can't even imagine it," Gatalas muttered. I translated his words to Purple Sonja.

_::Then, ya needs ta work on your imagination, ape face. Practice, practice, practice, dat's what matters. If youse tried hard enough, youse Firemakers could throw bolas with your back paws- not dat I'm suggesting anything.::_

I got the impression Purple Sonja might be trying to encourage Gatalas and Setareh to try this just to have some fun at the ape-faces' expense.

Neither Firemaker took the bait, however.

Lux, though, grunted as he stretched his wings, squeaking in surprise as almost came open to their full length.

Sonja sighed, instead, and sat neatly onto the ground. She tucked her legs beneath her and wrapped her tail around her hide.

Watching her carefully, Lux also sat neatly onto the ground, folding himself into a similar position. He sighed in comfort and wrapped his segmented tail around him. It was so long it completely encircled his body. Twice.

He looked, for all the world, like a dull olive brown Firemaker loaf of bread with a wolflike-reptilian head sticking out of the crust.

It was disgustingly cute.

Sonja purred and I shifted my gaze to her. Half lidding her eyes, she reminded me of a content, recently-fed steppe manul.

_::So's, now youse must tell us your tale. It won't be as epically epic as ours, but youse can always try.::_

After much debating and polite offers to let each other have the honor, Gatalas "won" the privilege.

One advantage of traveling so much as a guide for merchants and meeting other warriors is that Gatalas wound up- getting quite a silver plated tongue on him.

"Then, listen my fine lady warriors, dragonesses of the Eastern Savage Lands of the Steppes. Hear ye, oh great ones, the tale of our passage, for it is a heavy one in our hearts."

I was surprised to hear my simple Rider lay out our tale, embellished with many eloquent turns of phrase. Copious amounts of "lo" and "great were our deeds that day" burnished his tale.

I found myself short of rolling my eyes from the smarminess, but I managed to keep my calmness in place.

But 16 pairs of Sticky Fire eyes blinked in awe as they absorbed the tale.

_::So's,:: _Purple Sonja thought-sent, finally, :_:Youse guys and gals are tryin' ta find out why our People attacked yer Firemaker soldiers? Am I ta understand youse find us your enemies? Be careful what youse say next.::_

Gatalas bit his lower lip and then, very deliberately, made the reply.

"That is the issue; you sum it well," said Gatalas, folding his legs from the story teller's position- right leg over folded left knee- and now into the common cross-legged position of Sarmatians, "But we do not come as enemies, warrior queen, but as travelers in search of answers. I have ridden with dragons before as a guide. I know your People would not attack us unprovoked; there are many opportunities your People could have attacked us, and you did not. There was no need for it. My Firemakers are convinced some unnatural force is making your People attack us. And Setareh and I aim to find out the reason. We have many brothers and sisters who gave their lives trying to find this answer."

As always, I translated his words into Mindspeech.

_::Well, dat's really strange:: _Purple Sonja shook her head as if clearing her mind of thought cobwebs, :_:I can at least promise no Sisters of the Scales have participated in dese raids, formidable as my kind is. My memory's sharp and keen, youse see, and I don't remember attacking no Firemakers.::_

Jessamine the Juggernaut narrowed her eyes at Sonja's words as the leader continuing her conversation.

:_:I knows we's goes ta sleep at a civilized hour each night ta rest for our great exploits, and then we's wakes up well rested and ready for adventure. No raids. I guarantee.::_

_::But how _do_ you know?:: _Jessamine the Juggernaut asked her leader,_ ::You're sleeping. We're all sleeping. What if this unnatural thing comes to us in our dreams and hypnotizes, and we go and attack Firemakers and then come back again? And we don't remember any of it?::_

_::Piffle:: _Purple Sonja snorted at her follower, ::_If dat were true,, wouldn't some of us come back scratched or wounded? Maybe even an Amazon sister might not come back at all? Yet, here we's all are, very unscathed! Sparkling dully and full of fight! And if we's raid, where's da food we raid? I know I'm hungry when I wakes up, and I see no magical dead prey lyin' around here's waitin' for us to eat it.::_

I heard a little moan-purr and saw Lux had lowered his head, seeming embarrassed about something. I wonder what it was?

_::Maybe the food isn't being stolen for us?:: _ Jessamine the Juggernaut continued her line of logic.

_::Maybe it's intended for the unknown thing controlling your minds!:: _ I suggested quietly.

Sonja growled warningly at me. :_:Keep youse thoughts to yerself, hump less camel. Youse not a part of dis here discussion, and I knows what I know.::_

_::Excuse me, but our little group just lost a lot of good friends to attacking dragons, so actually I have been affected by this.:: _I regretted the thoughts as soon as they were sent, but the anger and sadness had built up in me more than I liked, :_:I have a right to be worried.::_

_::Stupid beast, can't youse gets it through yer ugly skull that we's are not part of this!::_ Sonja hissed back at me,_ ::Besides, yer so skinny and shaggy and dusty dere's nothing on ya dat is worth stealin',_:: Purple Sonja huffed, _::And dere's not enough meat on any of youses carcass for a snack, so why would we attack youses for food?:::_

I stomped an angry hoof on the ground and neighed threateningly, :_:Hear now! This is getting personal, you dull colored lizard! You take that back now or I´ll take what you said and stuff it down your...::_

_::Catfight!:: _yelled Blossom the Butcher, _::Gather ye round, now! I'm bettin' on Purple Sonja! Anyone else in?::_

_::Whoooooaaaa:::_ Lux breathed, impressed by the gathering fireworks.

"Mare, stop it, now!" Gatalas barked sharply at me. He rarely lost his temper, and never at me, :_:You're better than this, _doostam_. Just let it go, all right?::_

It took me by surprise and I slammed down hard on the insult coiling up in my thoughts.

_::C´mon, little girls, let's cut it out. You're both pretty:: _ Ravenwing said in a bored tone that set the Firemakers to laughing. Kourosh sneezed, a sound that ended in a funny moan, and that made everyone laugh in his or her own way.

Purple Sonja and I kept quiet after that while the others discussed pleasantries.

The moon crept from behind dark, watery clouds, heralding a clearer night.

It made it all the easier to see the dragons as they thundered over us later in the evening. They were magnificent, a clouded herd of different sizes and shapes. The booms of their wings cutting through the air were deep and primal.

Amazing as they were, though, we were smart enough to quickly put the fire out and move under an overhanging bluff and hide from their gaze. The Amazons flew along with us and joined us under the rock lip, coiled in tense little loaves on the ground. Their eyes glinted the dark, unreadable as they took in their larger cousins flying over.

Gatalas, Ravenwing and I, thanks to our military heritage, noticed immediately that there was no logic to their formations. Lore says that dragons attack in coordinated strategies: the acrobatic, swift Magnesium Breathers, for example, fly with the calmer natured Lava Breathers or older Double Heads to keep them calmer. Leading the entire effort is a keen-minded, usually male, commander known as a Fire Drake.

These dragons just flew in a hodge podge of wings and bodies, no rhyme or reason. And, it seemed, no signs of a leader among them. All their heads pointed the same direction, with none moving a head or neck to look around them otherwise.

_::It's like something's pulling them.:: _ I thought softy.

"Or pushing them," Gatalas added solemnly. Lux chirruped in agreement from where he now sat coiled up on Ravenwing's unsaddled back.

Setareh nodded, leaning against Ravenwing. She held the Draco up against her chest, taking comfort in its protective abilities. None of the dragons seemed to notice us, thank the gods.

Either way, the uncoordinated, hypnotic flying was not something we thought we would see from dragons.

When the flock of dragons had winged past us, I heard a snort and a sparkle of light jumping from the vicinity of Purple Sonja's muzzle.

_::See, now, hump less camel? My Amazon sisters and I are right, as always. We's are definitely NOT ensorcelled.::_

I dipped my head in frigid dignity, _::Very well, ma'am. I stand corrected.::_

* * *

The next morning we awoke to see Lux and Kourosh curled together for warmth, a wise move since it was very chilly. There was even a rime of frost salting the dead grass and leaves of this river bank. The two had had meshed themselves together until they seemed a double ringed circle; Kourosh was on the outside and Lux was tightly curled on the inside. His amazing segmented tail dipped outside the circle to droop down over Kourosh's back and then trail away towards the river.

Setareh chuckled softly as she blew on her hands, her breath frosting in the air. She jumped up and down in her calf-length boots to warm herself up. Ravenwing was still asleep, standing up with his knees locked. It really is quite comfortable for sleeping. Try it sometime.

"I agree with you about yon dog and dragon over there," Gatalas yawned and stretched, "Practical arrangement with the benefits of being cute."

Gatalas and Setareh had wound up sleeping together, too, seeking warmth, their bedrolls touching each other. I thought to myself how Gatalas must have felt, now that he knew Setareh was female. Did it make sharing warmth together more awkward? Like the Amazons legend they had inspired, Sarmatian and Scythian women were very open about their sexuality. A man or woman should be faithful to his or her spouse, but until then, a woman could sleep with whom she chose. As Gatalas sometimes told me, a woman's intimate life was her own business. The wandering life meant that you had to work with your wagon neighbors, and in a steppe fire or tornado, you could not afford to be judgmental about neighbors whose personal life was not hurting you in any way.

As a result, the whole concept of concubines or prostitutes was a strange one to Sarmatians, a sign of the settled folk. There were often blurred distinctions about children; a child born out of marriage was still a member of the tribe. In the end, all the nomads wound up taking care of the children together, tribal elders often taking care of the children while parents went hunting or herding or raiding. So at our gatherings, a stranger would probably have no idea whose children were whose.

Gatalas and Setareh, though, that was a Firemaker of a different color, as we Turkmenes say. Setareh was, for all practical purposes, a young man, even if she was female. She seemed very awkward with her feminine side. Still, she must experience longings, as all Firemakers do, and given her difficult past, those sexual desires must have been something that unnerved her.

"We slept just fine," Gatalas told me as he sat by my hooves, tying his boots onto his legs with cross gaiters.. He always laid his shoes out in a special code so he knew which was right and left, and his sensitive hands were able to tie the laces quite well, "It was magical, the lightning burst, the angels sang, the air was filled with golden light and joy at our magnificent union"

_::You're being sarcastic again,::_ I told him, bunting his face with my muzzle.

He scratched me under my jaw, "Well of course. What did you think, Horsebutt, I'm some kind of pervert?"

_::Do I need to state the obvious, hairless monkey?:: _

"Open mouth, insert foot. "

I was teasing my Rider, of course. Gatalas is very, very shy. The years we have spent wandering the steppes together as Rider and Partner have made him even more solitary in nature than ever. He enjoyed guiding and meeting caravaners from different cultures, but he still kept his distance. And, at the caravan, he had a few close friends like Skuda and Darya, but he still hung at the fringes of socializing.

He wasn't lonely just hanging with me; he actually preferred the solitude. I really had no idea how he been before the IT incident had happened. I doubt he had been extremely gregarious, but he had indicated he did have a sense of humor and loved playing jokes on people. (Well, he still liked doing that every once in a while). The blindness had made him more isolated to himself, I think.

The great irony is that the rest of Banadaspos' caravans had accepted him and embraced him as useful member of the tribe, but he still seemed not to have accepted himself.

What had happened to him?

"I'm not a player, Eyeful. And Setareh is a closed person. She's got issues to work through."

_::As do I::_, his thought voice touched my mind, _::And we've seen recently just how incredibly attractive the fairer sex finds me. There's a certain two parts of my body- or I should say the lack of them- that seem to be all that most women notice.::_

Gatalas rarely went into self pity, but the Slavic girl's reaction had hurt him, on top of Rasparagnos' rejection of his capabilities as a mounted archer.

_::Kick those thoughts over the moon,::_ I advised my Rider as he now began to loop the nose bag with my feed around my head (Nammy!), _::You know that's not true. The Priests respect you. So does your unit. And Skuda is very, very fond of you.::_

Gatalas' sun tanned face turned a new shade of red.

_::Very, very fond.::_ I repeated, amused to see his face get redder. I wondered how long I could keep doing this.

"You are a nasty nag with no heart. You'd probably even make bad quality glue." Gatalas said back to me matter of factly, now brushing me with my currycomb from the saddlebags.

::_Awww. Who's got a soft spot now? You're cute when you blush.::_

"Eyeful, c'mon. Skuda's magnificent. She's a great warrior, level headed, kind hearted. And, from what I understand, easy on the eyes. And she's got a wicked sense of humor and daring- she's fun to be around. She's stuck by me since we were kids, and she's my best pal. But you know we're too closely related. If she chooses to marry, she would need to seek a mate from another caravan."

_::That's for the priests to decide, I think::_ I pointed out, :_:Yes, you come from the same caravan, but she's not a first whatchamacojiggy thingie. Firemaker family ties throw me. We Turkmenes have it so much easier since the stallion is everyone's dad.::_

"Cousin. She is a cousin, Horsebutt. But, you're right, not my immediate cousin. Still..."

_::You're looking for excuses, again. ::_

"Guilty as charged. Anyway, I doubt she sees me as more than a friend. I am, after all, damaged goods. There are more'n a few men who have indicated they want to race their Turkmene against her bay gelding. I've got a lot of competition."

_::She's not agreed to a match,:: _ We Sarmatians all loved the ancient custom of a the horse race between two potential marriage partners. The man had to prove he and his Turkmene could keep up with the woman, as proof of his skills with horsemanship and persistence. It usually wound up being in the woman's hands to decide whether or not to let herself be caught or to give man and his horse a good chase. And, almost always, a woman would not agree to a match race unless she were interested in the man. Forcing a woman - or a man for that matter- into a marriage is seen as slavery, which is forbidden among Sarmatians.

"Anyway, we're both guides, and we're both rather attached to that lifestyle," Gatalas told me, "I am not ready to get settled down, yet."

As he spoke, he had unintentionally rubbed at the scars along his eyes, showing very clearly why he was not ready.

_::I'm happy with our wandering, too.:: _I told my Rider, _::It would be hard to give up the freedom. Sometimes I wish we could even wander outside the steppes, ride until we saw the mythical OH-Shun.::_

Gatalas harrumphed and gestured vaguely around us, taking in the river, the forest, the mountains looming ever closer, the steppes a far away memory "Notice where we are? No steppes in sight. Be careful what you wish for, Horsebutt."

"Oh, Gatalas," Setareh said now, stepping up to my Rider, "Your hair is a mess. Can I rebraid it for you?"

He nodded gratefully, "I want to be able to braid hair, but unless someone helps me, I still don't have the technique down. Thanks, Setareh."

"No, problem. Goodness, your hair is very long!"

_::You just have to practice::_ I told him, _::You've gotten good at braiding my tail. I think you can braid your hair, too. It's too long to let loose.::_

"Don't I know, Horsebutt," Gatalas said to me, as he let Setareh unbraid his hair and comb the tangles out of it. Surprisingly, there were not too many, thanks to how well it had been braided before.

Unbraided, his hair fell just to the bottom of his rib cage, "And thanks for not nagging me about the length of my hair. No pun intended, horse lady."

:_:Heh, I'm Sarmatian, too, apeface. I know the Sarmatian Firemakers routine. The strength of a person lies in the length of his hair. Cut the hair, and your power is lost. All except for the Forge Priests, but their power is obviously too strong to be affected by cutting hair. I think if I could let my mane grow longer I would, but we Turkmenes are doomed to short manes. If we even grow a mane at all::_

"It's a blessing for us, Horsebutt. Your short manes and tails make you such good partners for archery work- no hair getting in the way of a clear shot."

Setareh tried to pull Gatalas' hair into high ponytail with side braids- as many non soldier Sarmatians have it- but Gatalas asked her not to do that. He and I had learned from experience (Skuda had tried that on him once, imitating how she wore her hair) that it looked great, but thanks to the high winds on the steppes and frequent rain storms, the free flowing hair would still tangle in the wind, leaving mats at the end of day. Also, it did not tuck up easily under a helmet. Skuda seemed to be one of the few soldiers who could work with that hairstyle, and her war helmet was designed with room in it to accommodate her hairstyle.

Setareh stuck out her tongue in a bored sigh and put Gatalas' hair into its usual warrior's braid.

"Thank you, Setareh- you're the best and... what's this?"

We heard shuffling and scratching and then little bodies coming out of a network of dens in the ground, also known as Fortress Amazonia.

_::Lux! Awwwwwwwwwww, cute!::_

The Amazons were awake, now.

* * *

A hoof rang out against rock, and a piece of rock broke loose. It fell, dropping, dropping, dropping. It seemed to take an eternity, and then we all heard it striking against the ground.

It was a long way down.

I was glad for the special shoes the Forge priests had put on me and Ravenwing. As we had started to ride into the mountain slopes, the elevation rose, and the air had begun to get colder. The ground underfoot also retained its coating of morning frost, becoming quite slippery. The new horseshoes helped we Turkmenes to step up steeply sloping hills rimed in frost and ice. We could do it as easily as if we were moving across our native rocky desert and steppes.

The terrain did require us to slow to a walk, a very wise move in the slick circumstances The air soon became filled with a mist of clouds that had snagged on the rocks of the mountains, and visibility had become limited to what I could see just in front of my muzzle.

Thankfully, sparks of fire did light up the path here and there. We had acquired some scouts, who flew ahead of us and checked out the trail, then reported back.

It was much as Toothless had done with Gatalas and I when we had partnered with him to cross the steppes.

Except now the dragons scouting the path were sixteen Amazon Warriors, also known as the Bachelorette Party.

I had expected them to be glad to be rid of us, especially based on the tiff Purple Sonja and I had engaged in. But it seems like boredom is , indeed, a powerful incentive, and the Amazons wanted to go with us for a while because they were curious about us.

(And, as I overheard later in a conversation Purple Sonja had with Jessamine the Juggernaut, they were bored silly and were craving some adventure. We were the perfect cure... even if we were ugly as all get-out. Except Lux, of course. )

We had started the ride, moving at a fast trot through the morning. The mile eating gait swept us over the foothills to the mountains. Overhead, Amazons swirled and twirled and danced in acrobatics, calling cheerfully to each other in roars and chirps.

Then we entered into the mountains proper, following a route Setareh had shown us, the one that Toothless' data matched. Whatever this power was, it seemed to prefer a mountain view in its living arrangements.

We Turkmenes are used to deserts, but rocky deserts rather than sandy deserts. And the deserts of our homeland can get quite steep- there are high hills, bluffs and even mountain ranges on the far Eastern reaches (the Pamirs). We even can get quite a lot of snow, frost and ice in the winter. So, surprisingly, we are built for galloping on the steppes, but we also can navigate steep and rocky mountains.

Like these mountains, the ones that are called the Car-Pay-The-Ons.

At least that is what they sound like to me. We passed by some shepherds in the late morning, grilling meat on skewers over a fire. The Amazons disappeared over the horizon while Lux hid in the basket, all dragons becoming invisible. Gatalas and Setareh spoke to the shepherds. These handsome, dark skinned fellows spoke a language that had its roots in Broomhead Latin, so the Sarmatians were able to muddle through in Latin.

The shepherds pointed out some trails we could use and the features to avoid. There were slick passes with early autumn ice near the top, and areas of falling rocks.

They also pointed out other, more supernatural , hazards. There were creatures who were half man and half wolf, humans who turned to bats and drank blood, monstrous demons created from the souls of murdered girl-children, and a leathery winged creature who swooped down on mountain travelers.

"Dragon?" Setareh asked, and got shrugs back in return. No, it did not breathe fire, though it flew. It also had a head more like a demon than a dragon.

"How is a demon supposed to look?" Gatalas had asked Setareh softly as we all rode off.

"Not pretty or cute, I would guess." She replied grimly, nudging Ravenwing towards the trail that moved in a clear line up the slope. This would take us toward a tree-laden pass the shepherds had called Prislop Pasul, but we still had to go over some high country to get to the pass.

The air exploded around us as the Amazons arrived over our heads, again. They had detoured, moving away from being spotted by the shepherds. Once with us, they again started scouting. We pointed out the trail, and several flew ahead of us to check out the route conditions.

We moved higher and higher, the view getting cloaked more and more in a boiling soup of mist. No one spoke; there was just the sound of the wind and far off birds and our hooves as we climbed higher and higher... oh, and the light velvet rumbling of wings as one of the Amazons would report back to us on the conditions ahead of us.

Every once in a while we heard mysterious hoof beats behind us, but when the Amazons went to scout, they reported no troop of enemy horse warriors.. and, even, no single horse picking its way along the trail. Of course, the milky fog obscured all. But, so far, they were right: we could reaffirm this since Gatalas' own very keen senses did not pick up any armed people hiding, waiting to attack us.

The mist did not reveal much, but every once in a while, wind would push the low lying cloud-mist away and I could catch a view of the terrain. The little I could see showed these mountains were much greener than those ringing the Eastern/Asian edges of the Great Steppe. This was due to the vast numbers of pine trees growing up the slopes, some balancing precariously on the edges of cliffs. There were also lots of rocks, dark and ruggedly square that rose to form bluffs. Some loomed dangerously on top of ledges, giving credence to the shepherds' warning about falling rocks.

Even though mist cloaked the area, and Ravenwing moved like a ghost in front of me, I realized that the sun, ironically, was shining, for gaps in the mist would show valleys in the distance where autumn grass and bushy shrubs glowed in sunlight.

The trail did not go straight up, either. It wound, moving uphill, then down, and snaked in sharp turns that Setareh referred to as hair pins. Such a path was much safer than one built straight up the sharp edges of the mountain.

Gatalas mused to me, patting my neck, whether these trails might originally have been formed by wild sheep and goats.

Going this way, we soon reached the high point of this mountain trail, the first main obstacle to cross on the way to our destination, as figured by Toothless' data. We climbed up the last incline of the mountain peak, Turkmene muscles bunching, and rocks scattering beneath our hooves, sliding into the mists.

As we climbed, we again heard hoof beats behind us, but when we halted and looked back, we saw nothing.

Ravenwing snorted in challenge, breath pluming from his nostrils.

No one answered, and we all wrote it off to our exhausted states of mind.

When we hit the top of the first peak, we saw a pile of rocks with a St. Andrew's cross on top. I am not up on my Christian martyrs, but this St Andrew fellow was keen on being given a Broomhead Crucifixion on crossed tree poles- hence all such crossed pole formations are named after him.

"Is that a burial mound?" Gatalas wondered aloud.

Setareh shook her head, "I doubt it. I think it is put here to mark the top of the mountain and point us to the next part of the trail. If this mist were not here, we might see a whole string of those poles laid out before us."

The view from the top was amazing. A light drizzle fell on us, and our breath streamed out into the day, but yet far below us and well into the westward range, the sun was shining on the mountain and valley, even though our part of the mountain was hidden in the velvet cloak of clouds and rain. I also noted that, unlike most mountain ranges I had seen, I did not see numerous lakes or glaciers. There were, however, several braided small rivers and streams, so we would not lack for water.

"The weather will get better as we go down!" Setareh called hopefully, just as Kourosh woofed in what seemed to be an agreement.

The weather did, indeed, get slightly warmer as we descended into the Prislop Pass. At least the ice now turned into mere dampness on rocky trail.

The Prislop Pass route, then, descended into a valley and was easier to follow. The pass ran between two flanks of the mountain we had just crossed and the first of the Rodna mountain cluster awaiting us. Winter-dead brush whispered against our legs as we walked . Pine trees stood like sentinels along the trail, which now followed a braided river.

We stopped to rest and drink out of the river, all of us sighing at how cold and sweet the water was. We Turkmenes munched on a few pellets of Power Feed while our riders stuffed lahndi jerky and dried apple bits into their mouths.

Pine trees around us shook, scattering droplets, as Amazons ran up and down the branches, squawking in pleasure. They would practice leaping from tree to tree. A few times they would irritate a squirrel or two and a violent quarrel would erupt, mostly one involving a lot of noise and curses rather than actual fighting.

Setareh smiled thinly at their actions. It was hard to be gloomy for long watching the girls having such a great time.

Lux hopped onto Ravenwing's back and stretched his wings, calling out encouragement to the Sisters of the Scale. I whinnied in joy when I saw that, for the first time, he was able to fully unfurl both sets of wings. Though they were dull in color, they were enormous, stretching a vast span. They would have to be, to support a body and tail as long as Lux's in the air.

The break was short, and we moved onwards. We wanted to reach an area of the pass before nightfall, one that the shepherds indicated had good shelter and caves, dry ones with no creatures inhabiting them.

The late afternoon had us ascending again to our second peak, and this time the Riders came off of us and led us up the very steep slope. Again, the air got colder and frost and ice began to appear on the trail.

Knife sharp, frost-rimed rocks shot out from beneath our feet as we climbed. Thankfully, the new horse shoes gripped the ice well, so Ravenwing and I stayed on our path, even with the rocks slipping out from beneath us.

The view from the second peak was even weirder. Cold mist-rain spattered on us as we huddled on the top by the St Andrew's cross cairn. Looking down, we now saw just fog, except for a golden horizontal band of sun. That marked the pass valley we needed to reach this night.

Up above us, foggy clouds roiled, and the flashes of Amazon fire in them made it look like lightning was striking out of the mist.

So then we descended, Riders leading Turkmenes Soft raindrops flew in our face as we moved down. I could still see the sunlight view far below, yet everything at this height was mist.

Gatalas may have initially been leading me, but he vitally needed my vision now, so he dropped back and stuck close to me, moving with me as we descended.

My hips bunched up as I took us down, front legs out, hindquarters flexing. I followed behind the wise and agile Ravenwing. Every step he took was deliberate, and every time my specially shod hooves hit the ground, they squeaked like they would slide, but instead they stayed fast and agile, making it easy for me to make my next move down.

Bless you Sarmatian forge priests. You may look crazy, but you know your stuff!

Amazons flitted back and forth, their flames puncturing the fog as they reported on the track ahead of us.

I could see Lux had come out of his basket and coiled across Ravenwing's shoulders. He leaned into each move with an expertise that almost seemed like a Sarmatian Firemaker: one who rode a horse even before he could walk. Purple Sonja landed by him, and the two rode on the black Turkmene, moving fluidly with Ravenwing.

The path down continued to remain slick, and Ravenwing and I had had our hooves full.

I smelled no man settlement and realized on this mountain trail we were truly in the wilderness.

It was at that moment we all heard the screaming cry, a hideous screech amplified many times over. It echoed across the mountains, chilling in its sound.

It seemed almost like the cross between a woman's scream, a wild cat's call, and a hawk's hunting scree. It was not an easy sound on the ears.

The air became heavy with thundering beats, and then a winged creature swept down. Claws flashed and then both Purple Sonja and Lux screamed in anger as claws closed up on them and they were pulled up and out of Ravenwing's saddle.

Ravenwing neighed in shock and rose on his hind legs, almost pulling Setarah up off her feet.

We all screamed as we finally saw the creature in its entirety, a strange, leathery-winged four legged beast plunging up and over us, its nostrils flaring. Fast glimpses showed me the creature was a gray-green in color with wide, brown leather wings flecked with what seemed to be eye-shaped yellow flashes.

I also realized a "demon-shaped " head means goat-like, but a very evil goat-like head with curled horns, a beard of tentacles and, horror of horrors, what seemed like a human's face with downward drooping upper lip fangs.

It flew up higher into the mountains, higher than we had been in the passes, and I barely heard Lux and the Amazon screaming in despair.

"How in the Land of Lie can it fly so high? And, oh crap, poor Lux and Sonja!" Setareh yelled.

Ravenwing came to a halt and looked up, letting out an almost growling sound: the challenge sound angry stallions give when facing another stallion.

And then Lux and Purple Sonja were falling, dropped by the creature. Lux wailed in despair while Sonja tried to pull her wings out to stop her fall.

The creature caught them again in its front claws. It threw them again, high up in the air, watching them fall, only to catch them again.

Each time it caught them, it must have slashed them, for both screamed in pain.

"Dear Marha! It's playing with them! Like a cat!" Gatalas snarled, his hands digging angrily into his weapon gorytus , fumbling for his bow.

"Be my eyes, Horsebutt!" He yelled to me, skilled hands stringing the bow. He winced in pain from his burnt hand, then bit his lip and made himself string the bow. The lives of his dragon friends were at stake!

Next to him, Setareh pulled out one of her mystery smoke balls, balancing it in a sling shot that had appeared magically out of her belt.

Dropping, screaming, swooping. We watched the creature playing with our friends.

_::Aiming, aiming:: _I told Gatalas, letting him know I was trying to guide him. It was hard, the way the creature was moving. We did not want to hit Lux or Purple Sonja. And, with Gatalas not on my back, he had very limited contact with me, thus limited vision.

He leaned his right leg against my left front one, picking up what sight he could from me as he pulled the bow and aimed it.

I swear the creature laughed as the arrow shot over its head- it should have hit its mark, but the winged beast actually adjusted its wings so it descended vertically, something pretty much impossible, except for bumble bees.

"What the _bleepin' _ _bleep_?" Setareh cursed, using two most un priestlike words. (The bleeps just are there for your viewing pleasure. I'll leave it to your imagination what she actually said).

"Logic's taken a holiday, m'dear!" Gatalas growled, reaching for another arrow, "It's going to be hard to strike this fellow. It's no juvenile Red Death, that's for sure ! I just hope your aim is better than mine."

"The only thing I can do is try!" Setareh shouted as Ravenwing snorted and neighed in anger. He had been positioning himself on a rock just over the flying bird creature as it swooped down.

_::No, Setareh!::_ We all heard Ravenwing warn his Rider, _::You still don't know how those weapons fully work! Do you want to blind us as well?::_

The black gelding had moved to the edge of the bluff, and now the strange winged demon beast was soaring beneath us, circling us as if mocking us. Its green-purple eyes held uncanny intensity.

_::This needs a more old fashioned approach! Sorry, to do this to you, Setareh, but I need you to stand down for this maneuver!::_

Ravenwing bucked, tossing Setareh off to the side. She squawled in anger as she was knocked to the side by his moves. She dropped her grip on his neck hold and landed on her arms and legs, bruised but safe.

"Ravenwing, whatever you're thinking, don't do it!" She screamed to her beloved Partner.

:_:Sorry, Rider, this is the right thing to do! Lux and the Amazon leader are in danger! Eyeful, the mountain pass is steep, but you are agile. Charge it from the left. I will attack from the right. We WILL free Lux and Purple Sonja!::_

I transmitted these instructions to my Rider, hoping he would take the hint that I had to do this alone. Bless him, blind as he was and needing my sight, he still let go the neck harness.

The winged demon now swooshed by me, opening its mouth and hissing at me in an almost lewd sneer.

I screamed, an angry warrior, and leapt at the leathery winged beast as it soared by me.

My teeth tore into hide, and foul ichors slid into my mouth as my sharp Turkmene teeth stripped a huge section of skin and flesh from the neck of the flying creature as it bucked beneath me, a panicked Lux and Purple Sonja in its claws.

My hooves screamed on the rock, dragged by the beast's pulling. And then the shoes screeched to a stop, just keeping me from flying over the edge. The flesh tore free, splattering my head with brimstone-smelling green ichors.

_Thank you, forge priests!_

The creature was knocked off balance from my moves, and spiraled towards Ravenwing's boulder, wings spinning it out of control.

Its cries rose in intensity, drowning out Lux's shrilling and Sonja's roaring.

On the other side, Ravenwing tensed his muscles, the wrist straps flying on his neck harness in the wind. He neighed in anger, bunched his shoulders and hindquarters and then leapt into air, screaming a stallion's attack cry. His slender but still substantial body crashed on top of the strange winged beast as it careened below him.

Ravenwing's weight knocked the creature downwards until they slammed against the nearby slope. Both creatures fell down the steep rocky slope, rolling one over the over in a grim-looking parody of a game. They were both eerily silent.

As they fell, Purple Sonja and Lux were ejected from the beast's claws. They were flung upwards, both screaming in shock.

Then Purple Sonja caught Lux's scrawny shoulders , bordering them with each of her front claws. She hissed in anger as her wings plunged down. She flew away from the attack, Lux dangling limply in her paws. She winged them to safety while Ravenwing and the winged monster rolled on the path below her.

Ravenwing and the leathery flying creature finally rolled over the end of a cliff and then landed hard on a ledge below then, both stopping all movement as they fell.

A sickening thud resounding around the mountains, rolling into the distance.

The Firemakers and I all grunted in shocked sympathy for Ravenwing.

Far below, we could see Ravenwing had landed on top of the creature. The foreign beast lay still, its neck jutting at a corner and green ichors running from its open, human-like mouth. Ravenwing thrashed on top of it, his black-blue hide shining with sweat and foam.

Gatalas grabbed my neck band again, and I felt another pull as Setareh grabbed my tail. I grunted and descended down the fog ribboned trail as fast as I could, rocks strewing beneath my hooves

Eventually I came just over the ledge where Ravenwing and the unmoving creature lay. Ravenwing's sides heaved, slithering as he shook ragged breaths into the cold air.

The creature below the black Turkmene was now quite dead, its glazed human-like eyes turned to the foggy sky.

The Firemakers and I now stepped onto ledge where Ravenwing lay on top of the monster. He breathed heavy, his black coat painted with white patches of sweat and foam.

Bright red gleamed on his chest and legs, and I moaned. I now saw the glint of blood and bone on Ravenwing's legs and realized both his front legs had been shattered in the fall.

The rest of him was unharmed, but it did not matter. If a Turkmene's legs are broken, it is THE END.

Horses do not survive broken legs; we are creatures of action- we need to run to survive. True, Turkmenes have iron hard legs, skinny though we may be. Our legs are hard to break, but if they do, there is no fixing them. Yes, you could try to rig a sling, but we are nomads. Where is a horse in a sling going to rest when the wagons are rumbling? And , don't suggest a broken-legged horse can lie in a wagon; we cannot lie for long on our sides or the weight of our bodies will crush our lungs and suffocate us. Only ponies can lie on their sides. The bottom line is: a horse with a broken leg is a dead horse.

A broken leg is the end. Two broken legs makes that point even more obvious.

Ravenwing knew it as we approached the fallen warrior, but he was nickering in laughter, :_:... Showed that ... winged bastard. Heh. Take... that, sucker. Lux... and ... the Purple... broad got away. That's what matters...::_

"No," Setareh was now on her knees, stepping onto the winged monster's hide.

She set Ravenwing's head on her lap, stroking it., "You can't go, Ravenwing. Not this way."

:_:You're a... smart ... dame, Setareh, now show it.:: _Ravenwing mind sent to his Rider, pain soaking his thoughts, :_:I...made my choice. What is...done is done::_

_::Nooooo!:: _Lux and Purple Sonja had landed. Little Lux now limped to Ravenwing's head and licked the downed gelding's face, :_:You'll survive this! You're a warrior, Ravenwing! Get up! We need you! _I_ need you!::_

_::I want ...to, k-kiddo. But not this time. I ...cashed it in, Lux, and it ...was worth everything... I paid for it to see you safe, sonny. But ...it means I can't ...go on with you. Will you... go on for me, kitten? No... not k-kitten... dragon warrior.::_

Purple Sonja lowered her head and purred sadly as her sisters landed by her.

Lux did not notice them but continued to bunt at Ravenwing, _::No, Ravenwing! No! You're a warrior! Fight it! Fight it!::_

Ravenwing sighed, :_:It's not my choice, any longer. You all have to continue without me.::_

Setareh had been listening to this, and she was crying silently, now, tears streaming down her grimed cheeks. Unlike Lux, she knew the reality, and she was devastated by it.

"It's my fault... if I hadn't tried to use the flash bombs...!"

_::Silly, blacksmith. No. Don't... think that. This was... m-my choice.::_ Ravenwing's breathing was quickening as his body went into shock, _ ::But...I am... angry...to... leave you ...alone... like this, Rider... d-dear Rider...::_

"No, R-ravenwing...my best friend." Setareh was sobbing openly, now. She unbuckled the gelding's neck harness and saddle. pushing them off, making sure her Partner died without his harness on, "Then at least I want you to die free! No harness again.. ever! Don't worry about me, silly horse. I'll be okay!"

_::I ...know... that, dear:: _ Ravenwing's voice was getting fainter as the pain and the effort of breathing overcame him, :_:But ...promise... me, Rider, to go.. on... with your life. You ...are so... young, and you'd... do m-me... the greatest h-homage to g-go... live your life w-well. If another Turkmene w-wishes you to be... his ... Rider, do m-me the honor and... accept?::_

Setareh nodded, tears in her eyes, "I swear it on fire, Ravenwing."

She was not the only one crying. Silvery tears slid from Lux's eyes, and several of the Amazons looked away, blinking. More than a few scrubbed a front paw over a face.

Gatalas remained stoic, as did I. Both of us wanted to mourn, but we also sensed that the others would soon be looking to us to lead the way, now that our great warrior had been downed. Our time for mourning would need to come later.

:_:There... is one... last... gift you can give me,:: _Ravenwing's pain-filled voice saturated our thoughts, _::It's... h-hard for you, I know, but I... want you... to release my s-soul, Rider.::_

"Of course, dear warrior," Setareh pulled her knife from its holster. She hugged her black Turkmene and wept for a few moments. Then she wiped her eyes and kissed her best friend on his pink and black freckled nose.

"G-goodbye, old friend. See you on the other s-side?" she whispered, "Thank you for sharing part of your life... with... me."

Ravenwing gave a hoarse nicker, _::Nah... I am a dirty... minded... old w-warhorse. Thanks, Setareh, for... letting... me into your life. You ...g-gave me something... special I thought I ...would ...never have... after my first... Rider died. It was a p-pleasure knowing you, l-lady.::_

"You, t-too, sir," Setareh said softly, tears running down her face, "I trust when I look to the sky, I will see you flying, Ravenwing."

_::It's.. a date, sweet cheeks!::_

Setareh kissed her Turkmene one last time and then, skillfully, lifted the knife in her hands over the back of the gelding's skull, just where it met the spine and neck. She sighed and then plunged the knife down fast and sure, quickly severing the spinal cord. She had thin arms, but she had been trained to sacrifice animals compassionately as part of Sarmatian rituals. And, as a blacksmith, she had a sure and gentle hand.

I don't think dear Ravenwing felt any pain.

Ravenwing sighed and then relaxed, eyes lowering as she gave him the last act of love and mercy, ending his pain forever,

And then he was no more, his soul fled, and only a broken body left.

Setareh gently and silently laid his head on the ground.

As she did, a line of Amazons ringed her. She, I and Gatalas were numbed as the Amazons thrummed a beautiful tone. To my surprise, it was a song! And different Sisters took different parts so it came out as a strange, discordant- but very beautiful- choral melody. It reminded me a bit of the duduk music an Armenian trader had played once for us during a guiding trip.

And then Purple Sonja spoke for all our sisters, :_:Fair winds and fly well... Turkmene brother::_

Then each Amazon touched Ravenwing with her muzzle before moving off to form part of a protective ring around his body.

I got the sense they had adopted the downed Turkmene as one of their own tribe at that moment, and this was the way they honored their dead.

Lux collapsed into a puddle, head down and shuddering.

_::Why? Why not me?:: _And then he swallowed bravely, _::Thank you, Ravenwing. Thank you for caring for me. You may not be a dragon.. but, I wish ... no, I know... you are the father of my heart. I hope I will live up to your bravery, sir..::_

Setareh, still kneeling, picked him up and pressed him to her heart, softly weeping. Kourosh whined and nudged her shoulder. Setareh was starting to get even paler than usual, and shivers began to ripple through her body.

Quickly, Gatalas tossed a blanket around the priest's shoulders just before she toppled onto her side, still hugging Lux. She was shuddering with the cold of separation shock from her Partner. It was a serious situation.

Where would we go? What would we do? I raised my head and sought answers from the unanswering sky.

Kourosh was the voice for all of us. He tilted his head back and let out a long, mournful howl of loss for a fallen warrior... and that warrior's fallen Rider.

* * *

Gatalas and I had to bring order to this situation. It was not an easy task for a shy young man, and one who had an obvious handicap, but he rose to the task.

His military training, and the risk-filled day to day life of a Sarmatian came into play.

"Our friend had fallen," my Rider said, his voice hoarse but full of a surprisingly reassuring tone, "He's gone now, his soul released to the sky. What's here is just skin and bones." He raised his eyes upwards, "Let's honor Ravenwing's sacrifice and move on. We need to get Setareh to those caves fast so she can recover from the separation shock."

I knew you should not move a sick person, but this naked ledge was full of wind. It was a barren, brutally cold place for a shocked soul to withstand.

Gatalas spoke with quiet authority, "Can some of you Amazon warriors fly overhead and check out the distance to the caves tonight?"

Two Sisters complied, winging off.

Gatalas sighed and pat my neck, "I know you're tired, Eyeful, but can you carry Setareh and the supplies Ravenwing was carrying?"

I tossed my head,_ ::It is the least I can do, but I also want to take Lux. He'll keep Setareh warm.::_

And it would give poor Lux a purpose to do something helpful. His harsh experiences had made him so quick to blame himself for the bad things that happened around him.

While Gatalas strapped Setareh's bedroll and supplies to my harness hooks, I got Lux's attention.

_::Little spark, we need your help.::_

_::Bale?::_ Lux popped his tear stained head up. I smiled inwardly, realizing the little kitten had unintentionally used the Sarmatian word for Yes. He was picking up our Firemaker language quickly

_::Setareh needs to stay warm. It's hard on the body when we lose our companions. You saw that with Farna. That worthy mare refused our help, but Setareh has a strong will to live. She'd want your help. Just curl up in her arms, like you are now- but wind yourself around her so you can spread your warmth. And then purr.::_

I knew how his purr could create some strong vibrations, and I hoped this would help make his body warmer, too, and that would help Setareh. Lux complied, curling himself catlike around the space between Setareh's arms and her lap, and a soothing rumbling purr became a thrum along his body. Setareh sighed, and her shivering slowed down a bit.

"So... warm. Thank you... Lux." the red-haired girl whispered.

_::Hey, no problem!:: _ Lux trilled back, pleased to help out.

Kourosh settled by his mistress, also curling to provide warmth, and he would lick at her face every once in a while.

Gatalas found himself being helped, something he had not expected. The Sisters of the Scale watched his movements and then started dragging implements over to my side, and then glancing at Gatalas. He would point to where he wanted them, and the clever little dragonesses would position the supplies, securing them in place with their quick claws.

When Gatalas tested their knots later, he was mightily impressed with how well the dragon warriors had done the job.

I think they did this as a way to deal with their own shock. Purple Sonja was especially moved by Ravenwing's sacrifice. I caught her sometimes starting into space, a sad look in her golden eyes.

_::He owed us nothin'. He didn't even know us that well. But he chose ta give his life for me, and after I insulted both of youse, Turkmene.::_

I nickered at her, _::We're Sarmatians, warrior lady. We've always admired and wanted to protect dragons. This is part of what we live for.::_

_:: But youse have nothin' to gain from it.:: _Sonja rumbled back at me, now lifting up a sack of Power Feed to fly over to Gatalas,

_::We have everything to gain from it. You dragons are the symbols of who we are, our inspiration. If not for you, who would we be?::_

_::And, tell if that's true, what da red-furred Firemaker said? That Ravenwing will fly in the sky?::_

_::Aye, but as a dragon, not a winged horse. And, given his coloring, I would wager a Lightning Breather- a Night Fury. For us, the supreme hope is that when a honorable, brave Sarmatian Firemaker or Turkmene dies, he or she is reborn... as a dragon.:: _I tossed my head, :_:And, just maybe, one of the gods might become his Rider. It is said Marha's own dragon steed was none other than our own Golden Stallion, reborn after he gave his life during the Great Migration. But that is a tale to save for more peaceful times.::_

Purple Sonja nodded solemnly at me. She then flew to my left shoulder, where Gatalas pointed. The dragon warrior queen stuffed the sack of Power Feed into the saddle bag tied there, _ ::Hmmph. Youse truly are a crazy, delusional peoples.::_

_::Why, thank you.:: _I whinnied back.

We had to leave some things behind, like a few expendable supplies and Lux's basket. But there were items, like Ravenwing's rolled up harness, that a few of the Sisters volunteered to carry, clutched against their chests in their powerful claws.

I was beginning to realize just how incredibly useful these little Sticky Fire Terrors could be for Firemakers when they chose to work with us rather than fight us. It made me wonder how an army made of Sarmatian horses and soldiers would work well with Terrors as our scouts and skirmishing firepower. And what joy they could provide to a caravan, scouting the road ahead, helping with chores, even assisting with herding and hunting! And I bet they would be a delight to have with the children and pups and foals with their cheerful swirling acrobats.

_::And what about Ravenwing?:: _Jessamine the Juggernaut interrupted my thoughts as she spoke to Gatalas and I , _::We would like to set his body in flames, to honor his bravery.::_

I translated her thoughts to Gatalas.

Gatalas smiled radiantly, "Thank you, Sisters. Dragon fire- that is an honor, but I'm worried we'll alert our presence if we do that. We're getting closer and closer to that strange thing controlling dragons, and I don't want to announce that we're on our way."

He waited for me to translate.

_::So, you'll just let him... remain here?:: _ Jessamine asked.

Gatalas nodded grimly and checked my straps, "Sadly, yes. But this sky burial is our way, as well. We bury great leaders, but we always put the rest of our people up on high scaffolds or cliffs to greet the sun and sky and to feed the birds. It's a way for the body to be returned back to nature. Later, we sometimes return to collect the bones and bury them so they go back into the earth. But, the life spark- the soul- _tha_t has gone, already, and that is what was the important part.

"And this ledge overlooking the mountain view, this is Ravenwing's scaffold. Here, his body will greet the sun, but his soul is already flying in the sky."

The dragons glanced at each other and saw there was a logic behind that.

And Gatalas agreed with _their_ logic for giving Ravenwing a nice, clean scaffold. They cleared the area and shoved at the demon's body until it rolled over the edge and plummeted away to even further below. It took all fourteen Sisters, but they had a combined strength that was considerable.

Finally, I knelt down so Gatalas could assist Setareh and Lux on board. Gatalas gently used some leather straps attached around her belt to tie her to the saddle frame, since she was having trouble sitting upright. She complied and sat, hunched over, arms hugging a purring Lux.

We left, then, leaving our warrior brother's shell resting on his rock scaffold, but all of us calling farewells of love to him.

We climbed back up to the trail and followed the pass, Gatalas walking by me, one hand on the harness grip and the other resting on Setareh's shoulder.

As we walked, the two scout Amazons met us on their way back, squawking that we were actually quite close to the place where we could stay the night.

It took us only over a candle mark, and the descending pass wound into a gentle valley again, offering soft and easy paths for my tired hooves. The sun, indeed, was here, bathing the area in a welcoming, soothing red-gold light as it sank into the mountains.

And, then, thanks to the Amazons' quick ability to adapt and learn, we had a campsite set up in a dry, warm cave. Setareh rested in her bedroll, Lux purring and Kourosh crooning. A fire burned, and hot water with lamb jerky in it bubbled to create a warming broth.

It was then that Gatalas and I walked away from the cave, side by side. We stopped a distance away and looked over the river. My Rider sank down onto his haunches and laid his head on his knees. Wind blew loosened bits of pale blond hair over his scarred eyes, but he did not notice. I was still saddled, but that was the least of my concerns. I reached down and nuzzled his face, feeling the hot salt water of silent tears against my muzzle.

He made no sound, just let the tears fall, and he shed them for both of us. We remained that way, silently supporting each other as the sun sank into the hills and the red sky became purple and then dark blue.

* * *

I feel so terrible. So much has happened to good people! There's a part of me that knows it's not my fault, but a big part of me still hates that I cannot just flap my wings or strike my tail against the ground and make all things good again!

How can I make things good? What can I do? How can I lend comfort and joy to these strange Firemaker/Monsters who have become my friends? And Eyeful? And Kourosh. And, oh... Ravenwing. Braveheart, I miss you already.

And... I... yes! I know it now. I... love you, Ravenwing.

You took some time to teach a silly, scarred little dragon to take pride in himself, and revealed the great secret language of guy-ness to use around the broads!

When I find out what kind of flame I can breathe, every time I breathe fire I will remember your name.

And, every time I see a dragon winging in the sky, I will think of you, and remember your thought-laughter.

Winging in the sky? I can stretch my wings! I can do it, finally! Can I fly? Oh, what is the next step?

Well, only one way to find out... black dragon and Dreampaths, here I come!

But first I drank down the simple but soothing broth Gatalas left for me. He had come back to the cave, dried tear tracks on his face in crazy directions- straight to the side of his cheekbones instead of down.

It looked odd, but no less moving in its sorrow.

He smiled at me as he set the broth before me in its bowl, but the muscles around his dead eyes showed he was sad. I purred for him and, this time, when he stuck out his hand to my muzzle, I rubbed my head against it.

He smiled and cradled his hand so my head could rub against it.

Neither of us exchanged thoughts, but I was glad for his soothing smile, and I tried to give him one of my own. We'd lost too many good friends for me to be skittish around Gatalas, especially since I was now seeing this strange, savage Firemaker/Monster had a shining, good heart in him.

Even if he looked way too much like a bow wielding River Rat for my good.

I wished, even more strongly, I could do something to contribute to the group, but I was glad I could give a little to help keep the red-furred Set-air-uh warm, relaxed and resting. Her breathing had become slower, more even. And, thankfully, she had agreed earlier to drink a bowl of the broth.

As she had told Gatalas through blue-lined lips, "I swore on fire to keep going. I owe it to Ravenwing."

The broth did help her, and I felt her relax and fall into a deep soothing sleep. Maybe Gatalas had added some of those sleeping grasses to it, and I think it was a good move. They had helped me heal inside when Gatalas and Eyeful had rescued me, and I wanted for Set-Air-uh to heal inside, too.

Some sisters volunteered to take watches, as Gatalas was too tired to set the nightly wards, and they planted themselves in front of the cave as the haggard Firemaker stripped to his underclothes and slipped into his bed roll. His Turkmene, now unsaddled and wearing her colorfully- woven blanket, stood over him, letting herself drop into an exhausted sleep.

And then, I too, felt warmth and relaxation come over me. I slipped into sleep.

_All right, I want answers, black dragon. Where are you? Show me guidance? Lead me, great one! Be my teacher!_

I felt myself in that familiar pull onto the Dreampaths, and I purred.

Answers awaited.

Of course, silly me! I still had a lot to learn about how to get around the Dreampaths!

I woke up/ dream-emerged in an area where the perfect teacher awaited me and, when I saw him, I pricked my whole ear and my tattered ear and purred in joy.

The only slight complication was that even though I sensed he was a great teacher, he was not the _dragon_ teacher I needed!

He waited for me in a beautiful canyon, its sides reflected in colors of lavender, mauve and gray (ooh, more words I'm discovering. Yea!)

The Firemaker/Monster was a physical type I had never seen before: he had coppery colored skin and silver-streaked black hair that hung in two side braids past his knees. His eyes were slanted like Gatalas' and Set-Air-eh's, but his were a pure, mysterious deep brown. He wore a colorful, bird feather cloak combined with a plain leather tunic and leggings, and his feet were bare except for simple strips of leather on the bottom and across each foot. The leather cap he wore on his head was much more colorfully beaded than what the Sarmatian Firemaker/Monsters wore. A collection of bright-toned bird feathers stuck out of it, lined in a single row, like the crest of a cock bird. And, I swear I saw a few horns and dragon sensors placed around his head.

This guy was playing no favorites: He had tuned into the magic of both Firemaker/Monster and Dragon kind!

He held a wooden flute to his lips, and he played it for me, shifting and dancing. The melody he played was nothing like what the River Rats played when they tortured me, nor was it the looping, skipping, intense melodies of the Sarmatian Firemakers. This was a fluid, solid note that reminded me of the wind blowing through rocks and trees, soothing and mystical. His booted feet tapped a THUNK thunk-thunk-thunk rhythm, and I nodded to it in joy. Whoever this Firemaker/Monster was, he could play an inviting flute tune!

.

I noticed now there were plenty of golden canine creatures gathered around him in a large band. They vaguely reminded me of wolves (oh, another word I now remember!) , but they were smaller, their golden-brown fur more plain and more rough. And they were more rawboned and rough-looking than the cinnamon-colored, leanly-muscled, long-eared wolves of my homeland… wherever that was.

The flute player lifted the instrument from his mouth and laughed at me, "Welcome, dragon. I greet you, and my brothers greet you. These are the _cóyotl_ People of this Land, also called my coyote brothers. You may know our cousins: Anansi, Loki, Set of Egypt, Chanticleer, Renard and the Kitsune. But we all share the same job description. I see you, too have the look of a coyote about you, little dragon. Maybe you are kin? If you would like learn from me, I can teach you to be a great trickster."

As he spoke another coyote joined the mysterious brotherhood of the _cóyotl_. He was a darker brown even and more mangy than the others. Amazingly, he had mastered the art of moving on his hind legs. In his front legs, he was clasping a box. Carved on the box were strange symbols that looked like A, C, M and E.

The flute player blew another melody on his wood wind, a more cheerful one. The melody offered me true wisdom, great wisdom on trickery and cunning. The strong and the fierce are often defeated by the small and the clever, and tricks are a great arsenal.

I was tempted, but this was not the path I should tread to learn to fly.

I shook my head in surprised amazement, _:: Uh, thank you, Mister whoever you are, but I wanted to learn how to fly, not to play tricks. But, thanks for the offer.::_

The flute player laughed and danced and played a merry melody for me. I heard the coyotes behind him howl in joy. They called the Firemaker's name, one in four sounds, but much of it escaped me, except for two sounds like "Ko-Ko"

_::But, maybe you could help me find someone I am seeking, feathered, flute-playing noble one?:: _ I asked, _::I am seeking a black dragon who has the look of a leopard. And he is friends with a Firemaker with red hair, like the wolves of my homeland._

"Oh", the flute player said, "Well, you got on the wrong Dreampath, brother. I think you took the wrong turn at Albuquerque."

I had no idea what he meant, but he touched my head and gave me a few coordinates.

I sighed and tucked them away in my memory. I decided to try it without the coordinates, I still thought I could do this on my own.

I made myself sink down. I wished for a noble black dragon, one with the great soul that Ravenwing had. And his brave, but small rider.

The Dreampaths shimmered opened, and suddenly I was on a wild, white-sand beach. The air was warm and soothing, but I could see this beach I was on was very barren. I smelled no trees and very little water. Who would want to live here? No, change that: who would even _survive_ here for more than a few days?

Something leapt over me, and then I saw a slender, firmly muscled, but feral looking young man crouching before me. He had wild, long, sun-streaked, coppery hair with brown undertones that fell in loose knots just to the edge of his Firemaker shoulder blades. He'd made no attempt to tame the mass, and it blew around his face. His skin was quite red and peeling, but beneath it, I sensed it was originally very pale.

Strange small brown dots stood out on his face and chin, shoulders and legs and his eyes reminded me of the sea: they were blended of all colors of blue, green and gray, and they shifted in the light.

He had a corded, wiry body, and he wore little in the way of Firemaker coverings: just something of ragged brown cloth tied around his hips that fell to his mid thighs.

He gave me a glance of horror and then of curiosity. He cocked his head in a comical way, then he raised fingers to his lips and blew a shrill sound, a piercing noise.

Thundering, thumping sounds and then a magnificent black stallion galloped up behind the Firemaker. I thought I could see Turkmene (oh, Ravenwing!) in its breeding, but its mane and tail were very long and flowing, and it seemed more compact in the chest and rounded in the body than the Turkmenes. It was like a cross between a Turkmene and the Arabian creature that Eyeful envied so much!

But there was no mistaking the wildness in its eyes as it galloped up to the half naked, red-headed youth. It reared in front of the young man and then stood before him, nuzzling him as gentle as a little cat. The youth let out a whoop of joy and leapt onto the creature's back. Clinging perfectly to the black stallion with his legs, the young man pat his stallion friend and laughed in joy. The two galloped away from me, cantering along the beach.

The youth raised his hands and whooped again as the large, vicious, beautiful horse ran beneath him. They raced away into the distance.

I grunted to myself in irritation. Beautiful example of the bromance between a large black beast and its small, slender red-haired rider, but no answer for me.

I sank down again. No, I screwed it up again! I did not want a horse (sorry, Ravenwing and Eyeful) ! Where is my black dragon and red-haired rider?

Then I sighed and tried to use the coordinates the Coyote Flute-Playing Man gave me.

_Ah, there! See, it's working!_

I emerged into a soothing, calm late summer afternoon. A Firemaker sang in the far distance: a woman singing in a liquid, flowing language. It was quite nice.

I heard a dragon chuff and looked up.

I was lying on the slope of a hill looking down at a far river bank with a blue-green river and white bluffs marching up to the sky. The air was fresh, clean and warm; something about it made me remember very old memories- first memories- where the air had been this warm and dry.

Sweet, rich floral scents wafted in the air, and my increasingly agile sensors placed them as coming from the purple flowers that marched into the far distance from the river banks in the valley below us.

_::Lavender::,_ The word popped up again into my mind, and I trilled it.

_::It lives, it thinks. It's alive. Maybe:: _The dragon chuffed again. I rolled onto my back to see the black dragon- MY black dragon.

He was every bit as I remembered him, except he was MUCH larger. He also seemed older, in a way. And he bore quite a few more scars than I remembered, mostly what seemed to be the remains of nasty blows made by Firemaker spears and swords.

However different he seemed, the cynicism in his eyes was exactly what I remembered.

"What're you looking at, Toothless?" Firemaker words registered against my mind.

It was River Rat language, and I found myself flipping onto my legs again and growling. The sound that came out was deeper than I had been able to make so far.

It was enough to make the black dragon take notice and show respect... for about a nanosecond.

:_:Eh. it's just small fry, Hiccup. Wait a minute! I thought I was sleeping and dreaming- and you- and that excuse for a dragon- are in my dreams. Well, whatever. Now, I'm debating about that dragon punk: ask questions first or fight? Hmm? I guess the answer depends on what day of the week it is.::_

Now I got really confused when something ducked under the black dragon- no, Toothless' wings, and a tall Firemaker in a long cream colored sleeveless tunic, blue cloak, dark brown leggings and boots appeared. His arms showed wiry, well-developed muscles- the kind a Firemaker archer gets after much practice and exercise.

"We shouldn't have drunk that strange mead those French musicians gave us, Toothless? I swear I am dreaming- and- wait! Hey you're right here in my dream, along with me! That's it! What was in that mead, again… something called… what… absenthium… er… wormwood?"

Now I saw something that truly puzzled me.

I know from Gatalas and the red-furred lady-not-lady that Sarmatians hate River Rats. So, why in the name was a bona fide, prize-winning Grade-A Sarmatian speaking like a River Rat—and not a Sarmatian?

What a weird world!

The young man who faced me was, most assuredly, a Sarmatian! The signs were all there: pale skin, long red and brown streaked hair (even with hints of blond) pulled back in a high Sarmatian pony tail. And part of that ponytail included a mess of small side braids that had been also pulled into the pony tail. They were woven with jewels and charms. I counted at least six braids, and my guess was more were getting added over time, each braid depicting the charms and jewels of a culture he had visited. I wondered- if I met him many years from now, would he weave his hair entirely into small braids pulled back in one high pony tail?

The hair was not as long as most Sarmatians, and much of it seemed to be falling loose from the pony tail to drop onto the shoulders and collarbone . He also kept his hair in front loose and cut shorter, in a ragged, Turkmene -style forelock over his eyes.

I also took in ears pierced with multiple ear-rings depicting various Firemaker styles and jewels (my sensors picked them up, filling in data I had long thought lost to me in my capture: Egyptian, Hindu, Thracian, Bedouin, Xin, Tibetan).

And I saw a necklace showing a Sarmatian skull with roses growing out of its eye and nose socket. (So cute!) . And tattoos winding up the arms, depicting an amazing bestiary in blue ink.

Creatures I had never seen before- but none the less fascinating!

And, the clincher- the exact same composite mounted archer bow that Gatalas used, but this one seemed to be made of several forms of light, pure gold.

I remember from chats with Eyeful that Sarmatian bows are made of wood combined with a mixture of horn and sinew to make it more efficient for the riders. They don't have to pull as hard to get good power behind the bow, a useful skill to have when clinging by the legs to a galloping horse. Or a flying dragon?

This one was gold colored, but I could not tell if it was pure gold or, more amazingly, high quality wood and horn and sinew plated in light gold. The gold chased in designs that combined many Firemaker symbols. I recognized River Rat chicken scratches, Scythian/Sarmatian tamgas, Celtic Oghams, and, my memory stirred to fill in words for symbols I must have seen a very young kitten, before the River Rats took me. I now remembered them as Egyptian hieroglyphs and Amharic Ge'ez luck symbols.

When I thought about it, the Ge'ez were the symbols that seemed the most memorable to my ancient memories.

Other than that, the Firemaker oddly resembled the same fellow who had leapt on the black horse, though he was older, more cleaned up and physically fit. Was it possible there were multiple possibilities on the Dreampath- modes of existence where this River-Rat speaking Sarmatian and the black dragon had met, but as a ragged, abandoned Firemaker and a black horse?

Another difference was his eyes. They were a color I had never seen before on a Firemaker: a deep, pure mix of various colors of green and gray, and flecked with gold.

Another word popped in my head… an old memory of a herb that lined our nest that I breathed in that soothed me- in the long, long, long ago layer of my past.

Sage. Gold-flecked sage

It occurred to me, the black dragon, who I realized was named Toothless, had the same sage eye color.

Unlike a Sarmatian, this man did not have a beard, though it seemed like he had a very faint amount of reddish-brown stubble on his lower face. And unlike a Sarmatian, he did not wear a peaked cap or carry his bow in a gorytas. I did see a broad brimmed hat lying on the ground not far from the dragon, though. Probably a great idea for this kind of sunny climate.

And his sun-reddened skin was well covered in small dots, something unusual, but yet giving him kin with dragons, who also have hides flecked with spots.

And I also realized that feather-headed Trickster god had played a trick on me!

He had given me the coordinates, all right, but to the WRONG version of Toothless and his Firemaker!

Growling, I sank back down into dreams to try to find the RIGHT Toothless.

I emerged again into… VICTORY!

And saw the same Firemaker and Dragon in the same, summery, lavender-scented valley, but now playing some Firemaker mind game together.

Curse you, feather-headed Trickster god!

Snarling, I glanced at the two friends. They now sat at either end of a square shape claw-drawn in the dirt and made of many smaller squares. The Sarmatian sat cross-legged, and the dragon sat in a dragon-loaf.

On each smaller square a chunk of bread sat. Two colors of bread were used: white bread and the darker bread that Eyeful loved so much.

I sighed and made my own version of the dragon loaf, my tail going round and round and round.

And that got attention from the Sarmatian.

"It's still here… and it's awfully cute," the Sarmatian said, looking at me intently, "But that tail is just crazy! How can it fly with a tail that long? I wonder if it could just fold its tail up inside it?"

_::You're being a nerd again.::_

"No, seriously, look! The base of the tail is large, but it looks light boned on the outside. I bet those segments are made to fold down for flight. Each segment fits into the larger one- one by one. How else could it fly?::

_::I _can't_ fly!::_ I called to them, _::That is why I want you to help me!::_

They stared at me; I was not sure if they understood me, but they did seem to enjoy watching me.

I rolled and looked cute, and the Sarmatian tossed me a bit of white bread.

I snapped it up and purred and rolled even more cutely.

"AWWWWW!"

_::Hey, Hiccup! That was one of my knights you just fed to the dragon!::_

"Oh, quit whining, you petty, overgrown..."

"_You're_ the whiner. _ I _was winning!"

"And ...now you're not," The young Sarmatian man said smugly. He leaned over to grab another another piece of bread, a rather large one, and toss it into his mouth, "Your Queen tastes delicious, by the way."

The black dragon gave an even blacker look. There was a rush of air and suddenly a THWACK as he smacked his considerably-sized tail and fins against the Firemaker's head.

"OWWWW! What was that for!" The Firemaker was now lying, gasping, on his back, loosened hair spread out on the ground around him

The dragon flicked his tail, dropping a leather-woven cord onto the young man's chest.

The black dragon nodded his head in smug-lined dignity and showed some very well-grown teeth _::I am merely pointing out the situation in a factual manner. Note that, unlike certain, unnamed, red-haired, green-eyed, spotted Vikings, __**I **__am __**not**__ petty. That's precious bread you're throwing away on the rat with wings over there- and tossing into your own bottomless stomach! Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?::_

"But isn't that what we were just doing, anyway, using bread as chess pieces?"

_::I'm the dragon. I get to make up the cheap puns here, not you.::_

"Oooh, you are just so impressive in your ultra-suave sarcasm."

_::Did the temperature here just get a bit more jealous?::_

I ignored the exchange and looked at my long, long, long tail.

The Sarmatian's words did make me think a bit- I wondered if he was maybe right? Was my tail meant to fold into itself?

The Sarmatian sighed, grabbed the leather cord in one hand and sat up, again adapting the Sarmatian cross-legged style. He swept his now loose, shoulder length hair and braids back up into a messy high ponytail. He used the woven leather strap to tie around the hair-tail, securing it in place. Even newly groomed, his hair was still more forelock than braids or pony tail.

The Sarmatian tossed his head to shift his long forelock from his eyes and glanced at me, "Strange looking dragon, Toothless. I've never seen anything like that."

_::I'm a smart ass dragon::_ I told them, crouching down in the gesture of friendly submission.

"It's a smart ass dragon!" The Sarmatian called, "It spoke to me, Toothless! Why are you rolling and laughing?"

_::They all do that, when I say that to dragons::_ I told the Sarmatian, ::_And I don't know what a smart ass is, even!::_

The Firemaker rubbed his jaw, and there was a scratching sound from the bristles on his face, "Hmmm. A smart ass… well, that is someone who likes to speak his mind, who often says something before he thinks it through. Someone who is a bit sharp tongued and sarcastic and…well, someone a little bit like m- I mean, someone I know, I mean..."

He slowed down gradually as he spoke, and then stopped.

Toothless stared levelly at him and then gave a slow, toothy grin.

I gazed at him, thirsty for knowledge, "Like, who, Mr. Sarmatian?".

He stared back at me and grinned sweetly. His grin exposed front teeth that could have given Ravenwing or Eyeful some serious competition.

"Let's change the subject, shall we?" He shook hair from his eyes…again, "What is a Sar. May. Shun?"

::The tribe of my F- I mean they are people like you, sir. Even though you speak River Rat, you do carry yourself in a Sarmatian way- maybe you're a Sarmatian baby who accidentally fell in the river and was found and raised by River Rats? Though I am surprised they didn't kill you or torture you to death.::

"Hmmm…what is a River Rat? And is a Sarmatian another word for someone from Berk, well _m_y Berk, the way it used to be, anyway?"

_::What is Berk? This is SO confusing,:: I_ licked my good foot and combed it along my face, ::_ Well, anyway, from what I know about Sarmatians, they have bows just like yours- except not gold of course. They have long upswept or braided yellow and red hair with braids and jewels like yours, and they love dragons. They even march into battle with a fake gold dragon head and mounted on a pole.::_

The Sarmatian stared at me a bit longer. Then, I swear he imitated me, sweeping his right paw through the hair hanging over his face. I thought about suggesting he lick his paw first- it's easier to comb it that way

"That. Is. Just. So. Interesting!" He said, while Toothless indicated his fascination with a huge yawn, "We had- I mean my dad had… a shield in our- I mean his house.. the one I where grew up, many, many, many years ago. And I _mean_ a lot of many, many, many years ago. Anyway, my dad got got it from a raid in Scotland near Hadrian's Wall! It was supposed to be older than we Vikings- even from the time of the Romans! It had varnished wood and had a black, burnt-in image of a dragon's head mounted on a pole!"

He gestured excitedly as he spoke, "I always thought it depicted a dragon who had been killed had been mounted on a pole. But maybe it wasn't!" He gasped, "Now, the more I think of it, it was a _banne_r- a man-made object that looked like a dragon on a pole!"

His strange, green eyes met mine, "It had a long face- not so different from yours, but no ears, like you have. And it had a horn crown on its head. You don't. But it also had a really long thing like a tail attached to the pole."

He stretched his arms up and winced when his arms came too high, as if something was pulling on his back, keeping his muscles from stretching out fully.

He sighed, sadly, a long-suppressed memory seeming to play across his eyes, "Maybe it was Sar. May. Shun. Whatever it is, you made me remember my home again. And those people I'll never meet again- gone on a journey longer than any I've made so far. I didn't realize it at the time, but the passing of the years has shown there were quite a few good memories along with the sad, especially in the later years.""

I nodded, picking up on his bittersweet emotions, my wings spreading out. Ravenwing's death sat heavy in my heart, and I knew how hard it is to know I will never see my friend again.

_::It might be Sarmatian:: _I thought-sent softly, :_:And I wish I could see it. At the moment, though, I think I most want to fly. I am no dragon stuck unmoving on a pole.::_

That led to him asking me why I could not fly. I explained quickly, and as I did , the Firemaker grimaced, making me realize he knew River Rats as well as I did- and how they torture people.

Apparently he calls them Norse or Vikings

The black dragon sighed and snorted and then watched in amusement as his Firemaker friend started to throw out various ideas.

Finally, he just sent_,::Why doesn't the rat with wings try what you did with me, Hiccup? On the rock? With the rope. He just needs to flex his wings_ in the wind- build up muscles resistance.::

"But you heard the little guy. They are always on the move, Toothless, riding along on horses, gods forbid. Horses! How primitive! When and where are they going to find a rock to for the grounded flying?"

Toothless snorted, horse-like, _::There's your answer.::_

Then the Firemaker/Monster laughed, said, "Horses!" and drew some pictures for me in the dirt. I stared at them, and then I realized if I pushed these sensors in my mind to work, I could remember them in my mind.

"Can you remember them, smart ass dragon?" He laughed at me, chucking me under the chin, where the hairs seemed now to be longer, now almost like little hooks

I nodded.

"Good, because I am waking up, and some musicians are going to have to answer for sharing their home-made brew, especially if they lifted some goods from Toothless and I while we were asleep."

The black dragon laughed

_::Goodie. A game of scent hunting and tag! Followed by the good ole game of "dragon kidnapping". Followed by the game of Give-us-back-what-you-stole-or-you'll get instead flying lessons! Two simple steps: I drop them, and they either fly or go splat on the unforgiving ground. Amazing how they cooperate with such an invitation. Ahhh, life is good, Hiccup::_

* * *

And then I was waking up, snorting. I had curled up near Eyeful, as I saw from a striped leg on either side of me.

_::Mornin'::_ Eyeful sent to me, yawning, _::Sleep well, Lux?::_

I nodded, _::Strange dreams, though.::_

_::Same here,::_ Eyeful snorted, a rattling sound that made me laugh.

I shook my head. This recent visit to the Dreampaths had been way too weird for me. But then I stared at my tail and thought, Why not?

I concentrated a bit.

At first nothing happened. Then, there was a spark of pain in the bottom of my tail, near where the fins were. I whimpered, but suddenly something slid into something else.

And then my tail was a little bit shorter, and I felt segments had folded up inside of segments. My tail was shorter by maybe three or four segments, but still.. shorter.

I whipped the tail, and it was easier to move, now that it was shorter. Would that make it easier for me to stay in the air, too?

Then I concentrated, and the segments slid back out to the original length.

My tail was really like the Sarmatian had suggested.

Well! That feathered, flute-playing trickster had steered me on the right path by steering me on the wrong path.

And, thanks to the suggestion the Firemaker and his dragon had given me... maybe, there was now a way I could learn to fly again!

* * *

And that be the chapter!

Hope you liked it. It was hard to write about a favorite character of mine passing not gently into that good night. I hope you admire him as much as I do. I think Ravenwing has turned out to be the most like Robert Heinlein in personality, so in a way it was a homage to that old warrior poet of zany sci fi and fantasy.

And on to the next chapter- thank you, again, for following it! This one was written in three countries: the USA, Canada and Iceland. I hope I don't have to get my fanfiction a passport to keep writing it, ha ha.


	12. Sky Rope

**Chapter 12**

**Sky Rope**

**A/N -** Thanks to everyone who made guesses about the Dreampaths in the last chapter. It was fun reading them, and most of you were spot on or pretty close! I really appreciate your playing along with the game! The answers? Path 1: Kokopelli (Old Man Coyote) and his coyote tricksters, including Wile E. Coyote, the Warner Brothers (modern Day) trickster coyote. Path 2: Alec and the Black on the island from Walter Farley's "The Black Stallion", also made famous in the 1980 Francis Ford Copolla movie of the same name. Path 3: Thank you to Antic Repartee (AvannaK on Deviant Art) for letting me use her Hiccup and Toothless from the _Hitchups_ Fiction! It fit the Heinlein alternate timeline really well. Thank you! If you haven't read it, check it out. It has the most reviews of any HTTYD fanfiction, and it deserves them for its clever and quality storytelling.

Also, part of this chapter refers back to Chapter 6. where Eyeful first hears forge priests discuss the origin of Turkmenes. Since it's been some time between chapters, I wanted to mention that so you can refer back to that chapter if you were curious (or happen to be really bored).

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I can't take credit for the concepts of Terrible Terrors, Night Furies, Hiccup, Toothless. But I am in awe of Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell. The other characters are mine, and I paid them a lot to say that.

"I had taken a partner once before—but, damnation, no matter how many times you get your fingers burned, you _have_ to trust people. Otherwise you are a hermit in a cave, sleeping with one eye open."- R.A. Heinlein, _"he Door Into Summer_

* * *

"Lux, your tail seems shorter today," Setareh's voice, now ragged and hoarse, caught my attention as she stirred from her bed roll. Fawn-colored Kourosh thumped his feathered, long tail on the ground.

Setareh sat up on an elbow, the cloth of her sleeveless tan under clothing standing out in stark contrast to her very ashen face. The skin around her eyes seemed tight, and I wondered if her head ached.

I wanted to cheer her up.

_::I found out I can shorten my tail! I can make it really long and awesome… or really short and equally awesome!::_ I chirped to her, _::I've been having a grand old time making it bigger and smaller. And I can move SOOOO much easier when it is shorter. Watch, Set-air-uh!::_

I wiggled my haunches a bit, summed up my strength, and then leapt up in the air, executing a forward somersault. Air blew past me, along with delighted dragon squalls and a surprised dog whoof.

:_Yeeeeehaaaaaaw!::_ I thought-sent in joy.

_::You, go, kitten!::_ Jessamine roared to me.

"Lux! You're brilliant!" Setareh laughed softly.

I realized I had forgotten one of my legs was out of commission a bit too late, as I came back to the ground. But when I landed on it, I felt no weight on it. My body had compensated for it, and I had balanced on the three good legs, aided by my wings and my now shortened (and more controllable tail).

I was pretty amazed! Carefully, I set my injured leg back on the ground.

It did not hurt at all. How could I be healing so fast? Scars from knife wounds littered my hide, and they were quite old. They had healed but never faded, yet my leg seemed to be, impossibly, healing fast.

I cocked my head in amazement.

Gatalas was awake already, shaking his bed roll in preparation of folding it up and storing it in its protective sack.

He crawled over to Setereh's side and reached out a cautious hand. The Turkmene lowered her own head as if sharing a thought with her Rider and stomped a hoof on the ground.

Gatalas adjusted his hand, as if responding to his friend's cue, and it now rested on Setareh's head. She closed her eyes and did not flinch.

"Still some fever, priest," Gatalas said softly, "But not as hot as yesterday. We should stay here and rest longer."

"No," Setareh said, gently removing the Sarmatian Firemaker's hand, "We need to move on. We can't afford to waste any more time. Those dragons keep invading. And we still don't know what happened to the other units in your Dragon, Gatalas. I'll be better, I think. I just need to start moving, and things will be fine."

The unseeing look Gatalas gave her seemed like he was not sure about that.

"We keep pressing on. We're getting close. I have a feeling we'll reach the portal very soon." Setareh continued.

The Firemakers did their morning wash ups, using peeled twigs and dried mint to scrape their teeth clean and using the mountain spring-fed river water for washing face and hands. After pulling on their fake hides and those woven animal hair coverings they use in place of scales, they downed cold tea and the remnants of the soup from the night before.

Some of the Sisters had caught a few fish from the river, and I purred my gratitude that they shared this feast with me.

_::Oh, it'll be your turn soon 'nuff::_ Purple Sonja told me, _::I saw dat leg. Yer getting' better, kitten. Ye can join us at hunting before ya know it.::_

Gatalas hooked a nosebag around Eyeful's head so she could munch that strange, sweet smelling grainy stuff hat could keep her well fed all day, even though it was so small in quantity.

The blind man had automatically filled another nose bag. He adjusted it in his hands as Eyeful leaned over to nudge him and nickered softly, sadly.

The blond Sarmatian lowered his head and closed his eyes, sighing sadly.

Behind him, Setareh was packing away supplies. She looked at the unused nosebag in Gatalas' hands and then at the empty space near where a familiar harness and saddle was stored. She looked away for a moment, sweeping a hand across her face. Her shoulders shuddered.

_::Oh, no.:_: I limp-bounded up to the priest and crawled into her lap, bunting my face against her chest, rubbing my head against her collarbone, :_:Oh, I miss him, too. There is such an empty space here. It hurts, it hurts. You hurt. I wish I could make you not hurt.::_

I had to admit I had not expected I would do that. My typical urge around Firemaker/Monsters is to hiss and fight for all am worth.

But she had loved Ravenwing, too. And had been so closely tied to him. I had only known Ravenwing for a few days, and he had given me so much. I could only imagine how much more he had given her in confidence and protection. And, judging from their easygoing yet deep bond, how much she had given him back, too.

Soul-mates, good friends, bond brother and sister. It hurts to lose someone like that.

I just felt the urge to help make Setareh feel better, even though it was against my usual flee or fight instinct.

"Oh, Lux. I HATE being such a cry baby. I'm sorrysorrysorry. I'm getting your hide wet."

::_Don't be. I needed a bath, anyway. So you're doing everyone around me a great service.::_

This time Setareh laughed, and she pulled me further into her lap and hugged me deeply against her chest. Her heartbeat sounded deep and soothing in my ears.

Kourosh whined and nudged at Setareh's shoulder.

Then Gatalas and Eyeful were there, the Turkmene using her mind speech to help Guide her Rider's hand so he could rest it on Setareh's shoulder.

In his quiet way, blond, rugged and scary-looking Gatalas said nothing, but the grip of his shoulder must have said a lot without words, for Setareh relaxed more.

We remained that way, all of us, letting our forge priest friend quietly deal with her grief- and I mean quiet- her sobs were so quiet. It was as though she expected to be hit for crying.

I know, when I was a prisoner of the River Rats, exactly that would have happened to me. But these Sarmatians – who look even more terrifying than River Rat Monsters- were strangely so full of kindness and mercy. I wondered why Setareh felt shy about crying now.

The Sisters watched carefully, eyes puzzled. I think they, too, were not sure what to make of this. And I wonder if most of it was the fact I so willingly let myself be hugged by a Firemaker/Monster.

Finally, Setareh loosened her embrace on me, but I just rested my head on her shoulder and purred a bit.

"Oh, Lux. You are such a wise little soul. You knew what I needed." Setareh finally said, wiping her red rimmed, swollen eyes.

_::Of course I'm wise. I'm a smart ass dragon, remember?::_

"Uh, right. Of course. That says it all, kitten." The forge priest bit her lips to choke back an escaping sob, " Well, all right, gang. This signifies officially the end of the Setareh Meltdown Performance. Next show will be at dinner tonight. And there's even a discount for Amazon Terrors. Seriously, we need to move on, okay?"

The Sisters came through for us, again, taking up bits of baggage and Ravenwing's harness. Some of them even assisted Gatalas with harnessing up Eyeful.

_::Oh, that's good. Indeed. These little ladies know their knots::_ Eyeful said easing her shoulders into the saddle while Blossom the Butcher adjusted the neck harness with her lightning-quick claws. _::Oh, yes, that does itch, Blossom. A little further. Down. To the right. Ohhhhh…. yes. ::_

Blossom chirruped, _::Good thing you are not a Person or you would have dropped to the ground and fainted in ecstasy by now. That's the BYE FOR NOW! spot on us. _

Eyeful snorted softly, _::Good to know. I'll remember that the next time I am in a battle with an angry dragon and have conveniently grown a pair of hands.::_

Purple Sonja was soaring in circles around the cave entrance as we emerged into a cloudy morning. She landed on Eyeful's saddled back and flipped her wings shut, _::Dat's strange. Myrtle o' no Mercy and Primrose da Berserk should have come back by now. I sent dem ahead last evening ta's scout da pass for today's journey.::_

Tiny Sticky Fire Person roars came up from the river, ::_Over here, Boss! We're just catching''' our breath.:: _

_::Thank the Sky Lady you're all right!:: _ Jessamine roared, Sticky Person style, and she flew over to the river. I leapt after, running in my own way. I felt my long tail start to unfasten itself and coil out longer behind me as I _whumpfed_ faster and faster.

Both the little Terrors, one charcoal gray and the other an unexceptional straw green with brown shading, were lying on their sides, breathing hard. Their claws were clutched around what looked like unfortunate birds that seemed to have been pulled out of a walnut tree; the Amazons also held walnut branches and husks in their small but formidable claws.

_::What a night, I tell ya!::_ the straw-green Amazon gasped, _::But I think I'll stick to mating season if I want to be swept off of my feet..::_

_::What happened?:_: I asked, crouching down, :_:Did another dragon- I mean Person- try to abduct you?:: _ I could remember only too well when that Naphtha Person had seized me in the valley of that Firemaker caravan a few days back.

Behind me I could hear Eyeful and the two Firemakers walking towards the river bank, hooves and booted feet swishing threw autumn swamp grass.

_::Heh, if only that were the case. No, cutie pie, the shame of it is that Myrtle and I actually _let_ ourselves get abducted of our own free will, claw, wing and flame. Totally!::_

_::It wasn't free will, Prim_.:: the dark gray Amazon snarled, _::Something grabbed our minds as we were exploring the valley. We were making a wide circuit around the area, trying to see what might be coming your way from all directions. And we were going a quite ways back from here. So, here we're flying, nice as you please, and then…. Arrrgggggghhh:: _

Myrtle o' No Mercy squeezed one of green walnut fruits, and it squished into a whitish pulp, exposing the nut inside, _:: Jes' like that walnut, our minds were squeezed shut.::_

_::But there was singin' first,::_ Primrose the Berserk let go of her bird prey and moved herself to a crouching position, shaking her head in surprise, _::Makin' us feel welcome. Loved. Sayin' that we had come home.::_

We all watched her. I noticed her eyes seemed very bright- unnaturally bright- but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

Gatalas listened, head cocked suspiciously and his arms crossed on his lean but strong chest. Eyeful also cocked her head the same way. If the Firemaker were not blind, I would have sworn he and his Turkmene were exchanging glances of agreement. On the other side of Eyeful, Setareh tied her leather bandanna around her head, covering her short red hair. Her scorching blue eyes were also puzzled.

No longer having contact with a Turkmene to translate for her, she was out of the loop. So I quickly thought-sent a summary of what the Sisters were discussing, and she smiled at me in warm gratitude.

_::Then, next thing we knew we were flying with a large group of People of all Tribes, and somehow Myrtle and I had captured some nightjars. But every Person there was carrying something they had captured. All kind of critters. It was like the Buffet of the Damned.::_

_::The weirdest thing is that not all of it was prey. There were Firemaker foods, too. Why would any of the People want smoked meat or dried fish or that solid milk stuff they mold into circles... or their strange loaves of grain?:: _Primrose added with a flick of her horned head, _::Then we were flyin' over this spot where all of you were camped in the cave... and suddenly Myrtle and I could think fully again! So we broke out of the group, but it was like fightin' against a high storm wind::_

_::I'll take the high storm wind any day.::_ Myrtle snarled, _::We wound up fighting the pull on us so hard we could not keep our balance well, and we landed- quite hard I might add- near the river here. The other Peoples just flew on, not even noticing us.::_

Myrtle looked down sadly at the two dead nightjars in her paws.

_::And I killed two harmless nightjars for nothing. Frozen hells- we don't even EAT nightjars.::_

There was a moment of silence before the air erupted into draconic squawking as the Sisters of the Scale started discussing the situation in their vibrant way (and that meant most of us had to stick claws and fingers in our ears to function normally while they 'discussed') . Most of it involved threats to defend Myrtle's and Primrose's honor and to seek vengeance for their sisters.

But Jessamine the Juggernaut made a little "_hmpf- SQUEAK_" sound of satisfaction from her largish nostrils_, _which silenced the other Amazons_ ::I told you::_ she thought-sent to Purple Sonja, whose jaws hung open with disbelief. :: _I think we've been taking part in those raids, and we just don't remember it. Our sisters have shown us. That, indeed, seems to be the case. We _**are**_ joining the dragon raiders every night- we just don't remember it. And, it's only been the last few nights most of us have not been on these raids... except for Prim and Myrtle!::_

::_So why did Prim and I remember it so well, if this has been happening to all of us and we usually don't remember it::_ Myrtle o' No Mercies asked, a claw stroking sadly up the side of a nightjar's body, her eyes narrowed in sorrow at wasting an innocent life.

Jessamine snarled softly, _::I think because something is making us stronger, making us able to resist and remember. And you especially noticed it when the horde flew back over this valley. It's because of them::_

She snorted a smoke jet that hovered overhead and then fell with ashes around the Sarmatians, Eyeful, Kourosh and me.

_::You just gestured to all of us,:_: I said matter of factly.

* * *

_::Drama, drama, drama::_ Eyeful told me later as we moved along the valley, _::But it was a nice touch. If this were a chapter in a novel, it would lead into the next scene.::_

"But it's _no_t all of us, I think," Setareh said, after I translated. She balanced me in her arms as she walked, "I am pretty sure it must be the Draco banner head. It was designed to protect our troops, form a force field barrier from dragons attacking, so maybe it influences the Amazons as well- protected them when they flew in the vicinity of our cave."

"_Bale_," Gatalas said hesitantly, "I could see that, Setareh, but in this case the Sisters of the Scale were not being repelled by the Draco. They were being protect from whatever was ensorcelling them. Does the Draco do that?"

Setareh bit her lip, "It's a force field shield, that's true. But somehow the Sisters have been moving with us and assisting us. Maybe they are now members of our pathetic little ad hoc 'Dragon Unit' with its unique club membership of dragons, oddball Sarmatians, one strange-colored Turkmene mare and a Saluki sighthound. So, maybe, the Draco extends its shielding to them, as part of our clan. But that sounds kind of far fetched to me."

We had been moving slowly through the Rodna mountains, and I mean slowly. Now we only had one Turkmene, and Gatalas was very reluctant to have Eyeful carry both Firemakers/Monsters and our supplies. He wanted Setareh to ride Eyeful while he walked, but the forge priest was also adamant about not loading down the Turkmene.

So, boiling it down to ash, in the end, both of the Firemakers walked, and Eyeful carried packs and the two Sisters who had been ensorcelled, Primrose the Berserk and Myrtle O' No Mercies. The Amazons were grateful for the chance to rest after their experience, and they willingly curled up in the saddle, claws anchoring into the woven leather of the saddle seat.

I had decided to stick with Setareh. I had noticed- or my increasingly active ear and face sensors had noticed- she seemed to be more relaxed and less "sick" when she held me. I wondered if maybe my mind link with her was providing some comfort to her, filling in a sad hole that had been left by Ravenwing's death.

Not that I could ever hope to fill that great horse's shadow.

A good deal of the extra weight on Eyeful was now water, collected in all available skins and bags we had handy. A very useful observation that Myrtle o' No Mercies and Primrose the Berserk had brought back was that this area of our journey- the Rodna Ridge- had no source of water for many miles once we made it onto the ridge.

And they were right.

We found the Prislop pass ending and the crossed-pole marker pointing up to the Rodna Ridge. We climbed up from the river valley, heading into the heart of the Rodna Mountains region of the Carpathians. Eyeful and the Firemakers climbed stolidly up the hill, hooves and feet crunching on gravel and old rock as they did. I got the impression this was something very worrisome for the Firemakers. In their culture, they rode their horses everywhere. And the horses preferred having their Riders on their back instead of hiking next to them. Something seemed unnatural and eerie to them that the Firemakers had to walk alongside the one surviving horse of the mission.

I picked that up in the words Gatalas and Setareh tossed at each as they hiked up the pass trail, Gatalas walking next to Eyeful and gripping the handle on that leather strap around her neck, and Setareh using the battered Draco pole (we had still carried that with us) as a substandard walking stick.

It was not that the Firemakers were out of condition (though they, truly, were not used to walking so long), but they were concerned about the slow pace we were setting. But what could they do about it? We had been given these conditions by the circumstances. They were not ideal, but we all had to make them work for us as much as was possible.

We clambered onto the ridge, and I realized the ridge was a very long one. It stretched like a long, straight spine far-far-far into the distance. I could not even see where it ended, not even with my dragon eyes!

We would not be following the entire ridge, but it was long enough for me to see it really was dry and bare rock, with yellowy edges of grasses and mosses. There were plenty of frost-rimed water puddles in the shade, though it was mostly muddy puddles no one would willingly drink from if you had the chance.

This Rodna Ridge really looked like a pretty mean, nasty place to live. Which probably explains why no one lives here! (Oh, clever me!)

I learned from Setareh and Gatalas talking together (how fast I was picking up their language!), that there was a small, rough-edged Firemaker village south of this pass called Rodna, and there you could get supplies, but our Firemakers deigned not to head there. We did not want to draw any attention to ourselves- and if dragons were raiding in this area, then villages were going to be certain targets.

Plus, there was always the risk that people in this hard-edged region with few natural resources might treat us as hostile strangers. We'd already experienced an attack from a supernatural- or at least extremely unusual and dangerous creature. And the stories the friendly shepherds had told the Firemakers indicated this mountain range was rife with odd creatures. That might mean villagers would be rightfully suspicious of two very exotic looking Firemakers and their equally exotic horse and dog. To say nothing of having dragons in the party, as well!

Well, no doubt, the Sarmatians and Kourosh and the Amazons could deal well with an ambush or attack by suspicious townspeople, but they knew they did not have the time to waste on it.

Toothless' data was calling us to a spot just where there Rodna pass bled into another pass- and there the portal would be!

As we stepped onto the top of the Rodna ridge, I felt the wind blow strong against us, laden with old leaves and pine trees and many, many other trees I could not identify. And so many animals, too, that I could: rabbits and squirrels, wolves, and, far off, a musky creature whose hides were very popular as River Rat/Monster capes. _Birnir_- I remembered the River Rat word. Bears.

The Rodna Ridge really _was_ like a spine that sloped down harshly on its sides, plunging steeply into valleys. The valleys were almost furry with pine trees. And also some amazingly beautiful non-pine trees. Oh, my Sky Lady! They had leaves on them that were _no_t _green_! No, they were trees of a species I had never seen before: trees whose leaves grew red and gold and orange and brown instead of green!

What simple magic exists in nature! I had to clamp my jaws against a kitten like squeal of amazement. I had never, ever seen so many trees in one area! And trees of many colors!

I was not the only one: Setareh was open mouthed with a smile of pleasure.

"Oh, so many, many trees. They are beautiful, but how can you know what is coming your way when they hide the horizon. And they hide the beauty of the sunset."

_:: But why would you need you need the sunset when you have trees whose leaves are the color of sunset? :: _I chirped to Setareh in joy, ::_ Isn't it amazing how nature's like that? The people here don't get to see the sun, so the Sky Lady and the Night Lady gave them trees with leaves colored like the sunset do they would not miss it.::_

Setareh cuddled me against her neck, laughing softly at my very logical theory that trees grow leaves in many colors, "Oh, Lux. I love the way you see the world. You make me remember the joy of discovery. Thank you, friend."

I purred and leaped onto her shoulder, balancing myself between her pack and shoulders. I wound my long, segmented tail around and around her left arm.

The sun had come out now, and soon it became quite hot up here, with no trees to shade us. And the rocks seemed to funnel the heat and make things even more uncomfortable. We were all appreciative of the water we had ported, and it was very easy to see there were no natural water sources, no matter how far we walked along the ridge. It was a bit funny, actually, now the valleys around this bone-dry ridge were so filled with trees and bushes and autumn grass. But the ridge was dry, dusty and gray with no plant life.

_::These mountains are indeed different from others:: _Eyeful told me later as our little group huddled under an overhang (it was cooler than being in the sun but not that much so) to gratefully suck down some water. The Firemakers had poured water into their food bowls and were letting dragons and dog lap up small amounts.

Gatalas was letting Eyeful drink from water cupped in his hand; she lapped it up and thought-sent to me at the same time.

_::I've only seen the Pamir mountains once on a trek far to the east. We had been searching remnants of Sarmatian tribes who might have survived the plague in this timeline. But I remember the Pamir mountains had many areas of ice known as glaciers. Most mountains have those. Snow packs down in ridges and eventually it hardens into ice. When they melt in the spring, run off from them and snow in the higher altitudes gushes down the mountain sides to help create lakes and feed mountain streams.::_

I flicked water from my beaked muzzle with my tongue; it was warm and tasted of the skin hide that held it, but I appreciated that we had water, in the first place. And that our wonderful Firemakers had the foresight to collect spare water and bring with them onto this dry and windy ridge. And they could not have done that without the Amazons scouting ahead and seeing there would be no water on this route.

It made me feel a tingly warmth of happiness inside. We all were helping each other instead of hurting each other. And, because of that. we could conquer this dry mountain landscape!

_::I do know these mountains get snow in the winter from some of the natural features we've seen as we've crossed::_ Eyeful continued, _::And that must create a lot of the water in the rivers below. But it is a bit surprising the mountains here don't have any noticeable glaciers. Little spits and snorts of glaciers here and there, but I would have expected more glaciers considering the location and how cold I have heard it gets in the winter::_

_::Wow, Eyeful. You sure are smart! How do you know all this stuff?:: _I thumped my long tail against the ground, :_:You just look at something and you just know how things work! You're almost as smart as a Firemaker... or a dragon.:: _I added teasingly.

Eyeful gave a funny, snickering whicker sound, :_:You're humble, aren't you, Lux? Keep thinking like that and soon your big head will lift you up and make you fly!:: _She flicked her reddish brown-tipped, longish ears, _::I do know I am very smart for a horse. All Turkmenes are much smarter than most horses. It's only recently that I think I discovered why. It seems strange, but I believe the same Firemakers who sent we Raging Roughneck Sarmatians over to this timeline, also "made" us Turkmenes to be smart. I think we are some kind of information source- so I somehow have been "planted" with knowledge of how things are, and it comes out from time to time, but only when I am communicating with Gatalas or with... well, you, my little smart ass friend.::_

::_Wow. That's cool! So you know all this information, and we can ask you for it- Gatalas and Setareh and I and the Amazons? And you just know it?::_

Gatalas smiled at me as I sent my thoughts. Eyeful must have translated for him.

_::I guess so, Lux-spark:: _Eyeful answered, stamping a foot against a black-fly buzzing around her back feet, _::It probably depends on knowing the right questions to ask.::_

_::Ooooh. Do you think you know how to make meat broth that never runs out? Or some of that honey cake? That is sososo good. Or how to make me roar so I don't sound lame? Or- or- or...you could tell me who my real parents are? Or, even, what kind of dragon I am?::_

The Turkmene hung her gazelle like head in empathy, _::I wish I could tell you all of those. But I don't think I have that sort of knowledge in me. Those are things we'll have to learn from other sources. Well, except for number one and two. Eternal broth- such as it is- depends on Gatalas, Kourosh and me being good hunters. Honey cakes depends on us meeting someone who might trade for some honey cakes- not likely, but possible. As for roaring and your background. We are starting to meet friendly dragons and learn more about your People are a whole. Hopefully, we'll meet one who knows your heritage, Lux.::_

_::Suppose so,:: _I looked down to lap up the last bit of water, but Blossom the Butcher beat me to it. She shrugged, then reached over with a paw and playfully batted my face.

I was_ not_ going to take that! I squeak-growled and leapt at her. She snarled playfully back at at me and then the two of us engaged in some nice wrestling. Some old, hidden instincts came up in me, memories of how I used to do this with other dragons who were as small as I and- maybe- my siblings? We rolled around and swatted at each other, mock growling and, mostly, purr-trilling at each other.

It ended as soon as it began. And, unfortunately, with me pinned under Blossom's prettily painted front claws.

The Amazon flicked her horns cutely and purred at me, a dragon grin on her tattooed face. Oh, she was so pretty!

_::Very, good, Lux::_ she dragon-laughed at me, _::You've got some good moves on you, but you need some work. Let me show you some moves later, okay?::_

_::Yes, please!::_ I barked, _::Next time I want to be the one pinning _you_ down!::_

:_:That might take a while, cutiekins. But it's all about practice, practice, practice!::_

Gatalas offered the golden-orange Turkmene some more water but she declined with a gentle snort and nudge. He nodded and tied the water bag back up on the saddle packs for our journey. I was kind of surprised. I know what water amount was in the bowl and what was in Gatalas' hands, and I am sure Eyeful drank far less than either Blossom or I had.

That made me realize just how much the Turkmene was really built for endurance and going for long periods without food and water.

The same for Kourosh; the sight hound had only drunk half the water in his bowl, letting two Sisters finish the rest of it. He looked up at me out of his almond shaped, warm-brown eyes and then gave me a dog's smile. He thumped his tail on the ground and then let it curl up into its usual coiled shape over his back.

I found it rather nice that Kourosh did not mindspeak like the Sisters or the Turkmene or the Firemakers, but he had no trouble letting us know what he was feeling.

We moved onwards from our break, walking slowly as the sun moved higher in the sky ahead of us. We were silent, conserving our strength, but we were also grateful for the strong winds that picked up again. They cooled our hide and skin, providing much needed relief from the sun. I found myself stretching out my wings to flex them the way the black dragon (Toothless, was it?) had taught me. It really was easy to open them, now. And flexing them against the wind actually made the muscles feel good.

I had a funny little image my wings were drinking the wind. But it _did_ feel that way! It was like I was taking power from the wind's spirit.

_::Well, _:: I thought-sent to Eyeful, ::_At least I don't have to ask you about how to fly. I think I learned how last night... on the Dreampaths.::_

Oh dear. Talk about letting a bunch of stinging hornets fly out of the nest!

In the next few moments, I was explaining to my companions about how I had been going on the Dreampaths on my own and had been talking to the black dragon that Eyeful had first shown me. He had been showing me some tricks about how to exercise to improve my skills for flying and breathing fire. (I deliberately left out the detours along the way on the Dreampaths- except for the Sarmatian Hiccup and Toothless).

At first I thought Eyeful and Gatalas would be angry at me since both of them had become very tense, and Gatalas had a grim look on his blind face. I resolved not to cringe like I would have a few weeks ago, so I stood my ground.

But they were not mad at me... they were mad at themselves! Apparently they felt they had brought some pain and suffering on Toothless by passing on the data he had given them to their priests... the very same data now guiding us. Toothless' own people had punished him and exiled him; that was why he seemed so despondent when I had spoken to him, not to say beaten up, as well.

They both grilled me on how Toothless looked. How was he in spirit? Did he say anything about them or how much he hated them?

I assured them he did not mention them at all. That seemed to put Gatalas and Eyeful at ease. They walked side by side as I sat on Setareh's shoulders as she walked nearby. Small rocks crunched under their feet, hooves and dog paws. We had not stopped moving during this exchange; we needed to get as far as we could, and we no longer had two horses to go faster.

"We owe Toothless a chance at vengeance," Gatalas explained to me. He translated this through Eyeful, but I realized he did not have to. I now was understanding more and more of his words as if the more I trusted him, the more I could understand his thoughts and words, "We wronged him, so the next time he meets us on the Dreampaths, we must be ready to fight him if he challenges us."

_::Da's insane!::_ Purple Sonja chirruped as the landed for a moment on Eyeful's back, once I translated Gatalas' words, _::Ye know he'll kill youse, right? Lightning Breathers never, ever lose.::_

"We're Sarmatians," Gatalas gave his amazingly silly looking grin of irony, "There's no 'logic' in 'Sarmatian.' "

I then explained, stretching my wings against the wind from where I perched on Setareh's shoulders, about the last time I saw Toothless on the Dreampaths. It was Toothless, but yet not the _same_ Toothless. And there had been a Sarmatian named Hiccup- and, now that I thought of it, the second time I had met Toothless on the Dreampaths he had been with a RIVER RAT named Hiccup. Both had the same general coloring, but the Sarmatian version seemed to be older and stronger and- well, what would you expect- more Sarmatian.

I knew it! Hiccup HAD been a River Rat slave and the second sighting just proved it. There, he had been sleeping next to Toothless, small and starved from his evil treatment at the hands of the Monster River Rats who had held him hostage. Somehow he had escaped from bondage with Toothless and he had fled back to his people again and they took him him. He became strong and tall, and now he ant Toothless wandered the world, guiding lost little dragons- just like Gatalas and Eyeful.

Oh, I am very clever at solving these mysteries!

"That makes sense according to the Time C- whoops. Sorry, slip of the tongue," Setareh said, nipping her lower lip in her teeth, "I mean the priests who sent us here taught us. There is more than one time line, and a person on one Timeline- this Hiccup, for example- and what an odd name! On one timeline he is the way you and Eyeful remember him, Gatalas. But another timeline, he is someone very different- obviously he's either made a choice that put him on a path to live more like nomadic Sarmatians... or the timeline he lived on forced him onto that path by the type of environment."

"What do you mean, o nerdy one, by environment?" Gatalas asked Setareh with a friendly wink of a scarred eyelid.

"Well, the usual things that stir up humanity: war, drought, climate change. Who knows? Maybe his people live on the Steppes in his Timeline, not the North Atlantic and so they live like Steppe people rather than sea faring River Rats."

I snorted rudely from my noise in a way that would have made Ravenwing very pleased.

I personally liked my theory better.

_::Well,::_ I finally said, ::_He _did_ show me how I can fly.::_

That, indeed, caused us to stop, not in surprise, but because the two nerds of our party had to decipher what Hiccup had told him in those Dreampaths.

It was really quite weird. Setareh had a strange way of "coaxing" the data I had memorized from my sensors, what she referred to as a Memory Stone.

("All dragons have 'em, but certain tribes, like the Lightning Breathers have more receptive memory stones than others, so they can contain more data")

It was a gentle process, even a pleasant sensation, like someone was mentally stroking inside my skull, soothing me, helping me to ease my data over. And the beauty is, that even though I shared it, the data was still there.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Gatalas asked from where he sat cross-legged by the Turkmene's legs, "Knowledge is the one thing that can never be taken from you."

I liked that thought- as much as I liked the hilarious image of our two nerds now feverishly sketching out some design in the dust, using some sticks the Firemakers had packed that morning (no trees on the ridge means no wood for a fire, and if we were stuck on the ridge for the night...)

The Firemaker, I would have expected, for Setareh seemed the type to sketch out designs. I did NOT expect it from the Turkmene. But she seemed to understand the designs almost as well as Setareh and, from time to time. She would tug the branch from Setareh's hand and sketch an enhancement with the branch grasped in her teeth.

Setareh would glance it, blue eyes squinting and either say, "Hmmm... didn't think about that" or "Horsefeathers. That won't fly. No pun intended."

Together the two of them seemed to agree on something. I thought that maybe the Turkmene was using that information stored in her, but it took Setareh's design skills to actually make sense of it and see if it applied to this situation.

Altogether very weird, and very interesting.

* * *

"All right, Horsebutt. Move it! Move it! Move it! Against the wind!" blind Gatalas yelled, one hand stuck up to test the wind.

"I concur from this side!" Setareh called, holding the Draco head, newly mounted on its pole, its silken tail belling out from its head, indicating the direction of the wind.

_:: G'luck, Lux-spark!::_ Eyeful called to me, and then she slid into her fluid trot, fast but strangely smooth. She moved in the direction her Rider and the Draco banner indicated- against the wind. And, up here on the Rodna Ridge, there was plenty of _against-the- wind. _

I let my claws loosen from the saddle leather. My body was thrown backwards by Eyeful's motion and the wind blasting at me. I felt shock spring through my system as I tumbled into the air. Painful memories flashed; memories of the Monsters helping me to "fly" and throwing darts at my wings, and of my painful escape from them when the wind hurt my wings.

But then there was a magnificent _THRUM! _I felt the soft rope "har-ness" around my chest, shoulders contract as the rope between my front paws snapped taut.

That rope ended in a very, solidly secure knot tied around the cantle hooks of Eyeful's light but solid, tough, secure saddle.

"Wings, Lux!" yelled Setareh, "Wings!"

Kourosh barked in agreement, it seemed.

_::Now!:: _Eyeful called, _::Wings out and up!::_

I snapped my wings out and felt the wind bend at them, forcing them back. I started to wince in pain.

_::Cup your wings, Lux!:: _squawked Jessamine the Juggernaut and Blossom the Butcher in tandem.

_::Funnel the wind! It's your servant. Let your wings tell the wind what to do!:: _ Jessamine hovered in front of me for a moment, demonstrating how to set her wings.

I tried it and... wonders happened! Hooray for wonders!

Suddenly I was hovering in the air, floating still, not being controlled by the wind. Instead, I was being _supported_ by the wind. It cradled me, pushing up and back and forth, and it felt so lovely and good as it sang along my sides.

Below me, I could see the rocky and dusty ground and Eyeful's yellow-orange back with its distinctive red-brown stripe tracing the length of her spine- well, what of it was not covered by a saddle or packs. I could not see her feet at all, only her striped legs as she pumped them along. She was slightly in front of me, and, I realized, she was the anchor that tied me to the ground- in a good way. The taut rope connected me to her, so I would not blow off into the unknown. I realized I could practice my wing movements and and steering while not having to be afraid of the wind.

It was like the wind and I could get to know each other.

_::The wind is your ally:: _ Jessamine called soothingly to me, flapping next to me as we both watched Eyeful trotting below us, ::_The wind spirits are strong and must be respected, but they also will work with you when you know how to read them. They protect our People.::_

The Firemakers continued "scenting" the wind with Draco and finger, and Eyeful shifted, always heading into the wind. Gatalas had it a lot harder, since he could not be close to Eyeful, but several Sisters flew near him, barking and chirruping to let him know the right away to move and avoid natural hazards. He only tripped and fell a few times, but each time he came back up, laughing.

My squeaks of delight were making him joyful as well!

I watched Jessamine the Juggernaut as she demonstrated for me how to fold my wings, and soon I found myself able to make my body roll from side to side and to swoop and to rise up, using my second set of wings.

Jessamine could not teach me about my secondaries since Sticky Fire People have only one set of wings. However, as I followed Jessamine the Juggernaut in trying to climb, I felt the smaller wings at my flanks automatically move to help provide the thrust my first set needed to ascend.

Amazing, even after only a few wing beats, the air higher up was thinner, cooler and yet somehow sweeter.

_::We Sticky Fire People call it the Sky Truth::_ Jessamine laughed while Primrose the Berserk warbled in joy and did wheeling somersaults in the sky around both of us, :_:It's been said some of our greatest philosophers gained their ideas while flying high because it clears our perceptions instead of clouds them::_

We were lucky that the wind direction favored both my flying and our track along the ridge, so that I could both practice and we could make our way forward.

The view was... well, scorching powerful! I saw Eyeful, the Sarmatians and Kourosh so small and funny looking since their heads seemed big and it was hard to see their feet.

And the world presented itself to me, and, for a short time, it was mine to enjoy! I saw the ridge and the valleys beyond and, beyond the valleys, more mountains marching into the distance. Some of them wore rags of mist around their flanks. And, on their flanks, I also saw little, slow moving dots that I realized were sheep and goats and some funny creature that seemed like both.

_::Chamois::_ Primrose the Berserk sent to me, along with an image of the animal,_ :: They roam wild in these mountains. They have never been tamed by Firemakers. They are wild, like we Amazons.::_

I thought I also a light-colored horse moving in the distance when I turned my head to look backwards, but I could not be sure. It did not have a rider, so that, at least, meant we were safe from a possible enemy Firemaker/Monster. Just a wild horse, then.

I also saw, hidden here and there, tiny Firemaker settlements, clusters of buildings huddled together, though it did not seem like forbidding huddling but more like a warm shelter in the mountains. One such settlement even had a tall building whose circular roof sparkled in amazing colors of red and gold and blue. I was surprised I could see it at such a distance, but maybe the Firemakers had intended this.

Anyway, this world- the world of the Sky Truth- this was the world that the Sisters saw every day. And, now, I could see it, too! I flung back my head and bugled, and this time, what came out was a quite respectable roar- high in tone, but smooth. No squeaking_ here_, sir!

There were now many Sisters of the Scale swirling around me, correcting my wing position, suggesting better ways to tuck my legs, hold my long neck out. I took their advice, also combining it with elongating and shrinking my tail. I found I could go higher and turn and bank better when the tail was shorter. When it was longer, it caught the wind and helped stabilize me so I could glide longer than the Sisters could, letting the wind carry me so I could rest. I also noticed that my segmented tail has strange membranes that flared up straight out from the tail.

_::Right angle, that is called:: _Eyeful called up to me, just as Setareh shouted the same thing, :_:And those membranes along your tail are called... let me check... flukes!::_

Whatever it was, those odd "flukes" helped make the floating on a long tail even more delightful.

_::Now da's something'' I haven't seen on a Person before,:: _Purple Sonja glided around to face me and then dipped so she was upside down for a moment. A huge draconic grin carved across her face, _::It's like yer tail is one big eel, Lux. But it's like a good sort of eel.::_

::_You mean eels are bad?::_ I called back her. This was news to me.

Various hisses, sparks of fire, spitting and vomiting sounds filled the sky for moment. I got the message.

_::Funny, I had to eat eel a lot when I was a prisoner of the River Rats,_:: I told them, curving my wings to catch the latest draft, _::It didn't kill me, as far as I know, anyway. I can't comment on the taste since, like everything they fed me, it was fly blown and rotten.::_

I could almost count it in my mind... _three, two, one.._.

_::AWWWW, Poor Lux.::_ exploded from sixteen Amazon minds, punctuated by various additions of _ sweet kitten, poor dear, wee, innocent one, etc._

I admit it, I loved it.

Then Eyeful, after assessing my confidence, broke into a rolling canter, the rocking speed-gait of Turkmenes. It picked up the pace and the wind. It pulled me along, but even though faster and rougher, I welcomed it! My wings adjusted to it, and it was actually fun!

_Ohhhhhh, yessss! _ I laughed and warbled and plunged my wings harder, catching on the wind and letting my body dance on it. The wind rolled around me, tickling me, nuzzling me, caressing me, laughing with me.

Below me, Eyeful gave an uncharacteristic squealing neigh and bucked, reminding me of the playful foals, and I heard shouts of joy and clapping from the Firemakers.

The world flew around me in the happiest blur of my life. And, I am not ashamed to admit, some of that blur came from the salt water gathering in my eyes. But the wind threw away my tears, so all anyone caught from me was my bugling, my roaring and my laughter.

And, sadly, my happy experience in the sky came to an end. It had lasted longer than I had expected, but, eventually Eyeful slowed to a trot and then an amble and then a walk as a tall pole came into sight. Another funny crossed pole, but this one painted in stripes of black and red.

Eyeful came to a halt and then I felt myself dropping _down, down, down_ until I landed on her saddle again.

"Here's where we break from the ridge and head down to the valley, hopefully spend the night, " Setareh's rich, husky voice sliced through the air, "Then we leave the Rodna Range and head into the Bârgău Range, via the Tihuţa Pass."

Well, those are Firemaker words. What I heard was something that sounded like "BIR-ja'ooh Range" and "Tee-hutz-uh Pass."

Anyway, I was back on the boring ground (well, at least on Eyeful's saddle. Not that she's boring, but it was not the same as... flying!)

We descended, the air becoming cooler as we came in more among trees to shade the sun. Not much to report on the way down, which I suppose is a blessing.

Then, once again we were in a valley; though there was a river here, it was smaller, and the landscape seemed much dryer than in the Prislop region.

But, it was water!

I felt Gatalas untie my rope and, not waiting for him to take off that crude rope har-ness, I leapt down to the river bank and joined my friends.

Everyone- two and four legged, winged or not, gathered on the banks and drank. I grinned to see how Eyeful plunged her nose into the water and drank, her longish ears switching back and forth as she did. It made me wonder, for a moment, if the switching of her ears somehow helped the water flow into her mouth.

I drank too, lapping up the water, savoring its clean taste, flavored gently with plants and clean rocks.

And then, feeling good, something made me flex my wings and jump in the air to try and fly without assistance.

Mouths and muzzles rose, dripping, from the stream and all glanced up to see my heroic launch into the air.

And my equally heroic drop, straight into the slimy, boggy mud a short distance from the stream.

I raised my head up, mud running from my muzzle, wings, my... well, my everywhere.

_::Awww, Poofcrud!::_

* * *

_::Ya gotta learn how to talk to the wind, Lux-honey:_:, Purple Sonja crooned to me, as she and the others helped me scrub the mud off my hide. I desisted mightily at first- I had to show them I was not a helpless little kitten, thank you!

But it was a particularly sticky and nasty mud, and the quick-clawed terrors could scrape it off me very fast, faster than I could on my own. Plus, they added it to the list of things I would do to help them once I would fly and hunt. That put me at ease. I did not want to be the cute widdle kitten who had to have my bottom licked clean. I was a dragon, a potential lord of the sky! Being _widdle and cute_ did not help me with attaining that lofty goal.

But their scratching claws caught the dirt- and a few itches and muscle knots I had not noticed before- and I found myself relaxing and letting them scrub the mud off me. They used their claws and some plants in the river that they called sand weed. Setareh and Gatalas called them "horse tail ferns" and praised how good they are to use for cleaning both the body and the bowls they used to serve our water and broth. Plus, Setareh told me, as she watched the Sisters finish scrubbing me, it was used by her Firemakers for medical purposes, too.

They also untied the muddy inventor's harness from me, tossing it in the water and scrubbed with sand weed until it was clean again.

_::Hold still, Lux!:_: Sadie the Salacious called to me, scraping down my back,_ ::Believe it or not, that little flight and fall must have triggered something in your body. Your scales are _p_eeling off in our claws! No- don't get upset, kid. It's called 'molting.' I think it's time for your adult coloring to come forth. And I was here to... sob... see it.::_

Sadie wiped a paw across her muzzle and then glared at me with a little hiss, as if to prove to me she was still a tough dragoness.

Scraping, more scraping _(aahh, purr... that itched, and oooh- that was nice. And, wow- I feel- cleaner and better now that old skin is off me and- hey, you're ripping off my cast! But- my leg doesn't need it anymore... I think?)_

Next. I was dumped under the invigoratingly chilly water by several Sisters, all laughing and casually discussing their various exploits of bravery that day, grand feats that usually including scouting for us, teaching me to fly, or carving initials and Amazon Unit sigils on trees.

Then I was instructed to roll in the clean grass to dry. I did so, and shook it off, then lay down to bask in the descending sun.

_::Oh, Lux:_: the Turkmene's rough but beloved thought voice made me crack my eyes open, lifting all three of my lids,_ ::Your scales, your hide. You're... magnificent.::_

_::Wha?::_ I lurched to my feet amid purrs and trills and a Firemaker whistle of admiration.

The Firemakers had stopped setting up their hide shelter they had been building under an overhang. Setareh wore a wide grin, Gatalas only confusion. But when Eyeful trotted over and he touched her shoulder, his own bearded face split into radiant smile.

"Who'd have thought the scales were hiding... this?" he breathed, softly, "Lux-spark, you... are.. a spark."

I snorted in frustration, _::But I cannot see myself!_::

I felt a nip and a nudge and then Jessamine and the quiet, rose-brown Sister whose name I had not yet learned were nudging me towards a part of the river that caught itself in a little, glasslike tidal pool framed with long fox sedge grass and horse tail ferns.

For the first time ever, I saw myself.

Indeed, I was not a Lightning Person or a Sticker Fire Person... or a Naphtha or Magnesium Person, for that matter.

I was something very different.

The young drake-kitten who looked back at me from the water was something I did not expect. He was slender- oh so slender, bones sticking out in a few places. And faded scars still riddled his body and tail. But he was also... illuminating.

I was longer and leaner than any dragon I had seen so far- my neck, my legs, my torso, and my amazing, long, segmented tail with its rippling, translucent side flukes. The tail ended in a fork that was too small for steering. It was more like the tail fork of a fish. My legs ended in pawed feet with four "fingers", each ending in a hooked claw, and a fifth clawed finger set higher up. Pads on the bottom of my feet protected them and silenced my movements.

My head was long and lean and it did resemble a reptilian wolf, but my expression seemed more.. well.. dragon like, of course!

But, like a wolf's, my head started broad and then narrowed to a muzzle, reinforced on the jaws that would have a powerful bite. I had fangs, too, and a barbed tongue that stretched long and red when I stuck it from my mouth. Like a wolf, I had a "ruff" around my shoulders and jaws, made of soft and strong sensors. They could "puff up" like a wolf ruff or lie flat and sleek against my neck so they looked like scales. I just had to decide, and my ruff fell in shape as I wished. Two long, wolf like ear- sensors pricked up from my head. One was sharp and handsome. The other, the left ear shredded in a River Rat dart game, tried to prick up, but the top half was just shattered shreds that dripped in streamers to fall along the side of my face. It gave me a rather rakish- and , yes, even a bit forlorn air.

There also seemed to be some sensors growing in under my chin (tiny barbs) and between my ear sensors- also curling little barbs. It seemed too soon to tell what they would grow into.

My coloring- that seemed to be the magnificent thing. I had previously been a rather blechy and boring drab olive- brown. Now those scales had been scraped away. I was now a deep, deep gray, but there was an underlying, very quiet, subtle pearl like sheen (I found out later it only came out in light. In darkness, I blended into the shadows). The pearl sheen reminded me of the ethereal, mystical and quiet swirl of muted colors I would see sometimes in mollusk shells or abalone.

The River Rat/Vikings when they saw mollusk shells or abalone shells, stomped and shattered them, proclaiming them fool's pearl. But I had been awed by those simple swirls of pearly pink and blue and gold hidden in a dark grey shell.

I was a dark gray, pearlescent dragon. My coloring was not like Toothless', whose coat was more a sleek deep gray/blue color with black stripes. Instead, I was a softly pearlescent, deep gray. It would not stand out, so I could easily hide in the shadows, but when I stepped into light and wanted to be seen, those soft pearly hues would shift back in forth in the light, depending on how I moved.

And- yes- I had stripes! I had a vision on the Dreampaths I was striped, and I was right! Deep gray stripes ran parallel to my spine, tracking from my jaw, along my neck and sides into my tail. There were pearly knobs located periodically along the stripes. I had no idea their purpose.

The strange pearly knobs seemed to congregate along my face, forming a natural, pearly mask around my eyes and down to my muzzle.

It very much looked like the muzzle and face flashes that wolves have- along the ruff- and really made me look like a dragon-wolf, and it took me by surprise.

* * *

Almond-shaped golden eyes with warm red flecks stood out in the mask, along with wide, black, cat-like slit pupils. Mysterious eyes. but I could also see in them warmth and a wish to be loved... as well as a wish to remain a fierce, wild mystery.

So, this strange wolf-dragon kitten was me. I certainly did not find him beautiful- he was too bony and covered with scars for that. But his... my...

:_:Yeh, yeh, yeh, yer kind o' pretty, okay. Deal with it.:: _Purple Sonja landed in front of me, blocking my view of my reflection, ::_Okay, so maybe yer kinda handsome. But da's on de outside. On da inside is what matters. Like I said, my Purpleness burns in side of me- and all my Sisters shine on da inside, even if we's are dull on da outside. But da truth is, Lux, ye gotta prove ta dragons yer handsome on da inside. Firemakers love da appearances. Dragons are a bit harder ta impress. And, if you let your looks go ta yer head, I'll be more'n happy to knock some humility into ya. I like ya cuz yer pretty on da inside, Lux. Don't forget that.::_

I took her words to mind as we helped the Firemakers set up camp, cook food, heal wounds and then all of us fall into a good sleep.

* * *

The hoof beats woke us all in the dawn, the same hoof beats that had been plaguing the last few days as we journeyed through the mountains.

I groaned with tiredness in my eyes, but I came awake with the spark of a Firemaker light in the mist, and Setareh's scrawny figure set in light as she laid a fire.

I yawned and crawled out to join Setareh, worming under her arm to lie against her and purr. And she welcomed me, even with her weapons laid close by to grab. My friendship with her was something she valued highly.

And both of us saw a horse ghost itself out of the morning mist, a thin but very strong horse. An eerie but yet oddly beautiful horse.

A cremello Turkmene with no mane but strong and kind (and yet still scarily fierce) blue eyes and a glowing ivory coat. Thin, but glowing with life, renewed life.

"Farna," Setareh breathed as Gatalas moaned and tossed in his bedroll, following a hidden dream in his world.

It was, indeed, Farna. Thin, grass and mud stained, but proud and glowing with Turkmene determination on her creamy hide.

She stopped in front of Setareh and I as my Priest Firemaker friend tended the fire to cook the morning breakfast: gruel and leftover stew.

Eyeful raised her head and whickered loudly, and Farna answered her.

Farna stepped daintily until she was in front of Setareh and I, where I curled next to Setareh's side.

Setareh's blue, slanted eyes opened wide, and I saw a mist of wonder in them.

Farna dipped her head slowly.

Setareh stood from her crouch near the fire and bowed back to Farna, the former chieftain's horse.

And Farna ducked down and bowed to Setareh on one knee.

"No, you silly!" Setareh laughed softly, "I am from peasant stock. Banadaspos was a Scepter Holder. I am a Forge Priest, but only a peasant girl at heart."

Farna tossed her head and nickered softly, as if laughing. She rose on her hind legs and pawed the air, then came back down and did a bit of a prancing dance in front of us, a dance of joy.

It caught Setareh off guard and she laughed softly as I purred in delight. She pulled me up onto her shoulders and pet me until I purred, but her thoughts were to seek comfort from me, not to coddle me like a pet.

She knew better than that to treat a dragon as a mere pet.

Farna stomped a hoof, attracting Setareh's full attention. Her eerie blue eyes caught Setareh's fire-scorched blue eyes.

Tears leaked from Setareh's eyes, but she did not brush them away. Instead she raised her right hand and looked away.

And Farna walked up, laying her muzzle in Setareh's forge-scarred palm. Setareh turned to look back and caught Farna's gaze.

And, I swear, Farna winked.

And Setareh found herself winking back.

And I did , too- just for the fun of it.

Setareh threw her arms around the tall warhorse and hugged her, pressing her face against the tall mare's neck. Farna lowered her head and blew softly down Setareh's neck and back.

:_:Welcome, Lux::_ Farna told me, and I found myself leaping on her shoulders and nuzzling her. So we all shared a bond.

"Oh, I feel whole again," Setareh whispered with calm dignity, even though tears trickled from her closed eyes, "Ravenwing- oh, Ravenwing. But, he asked me to go on, for his sake. So, I hope he is happy. I know I am... thank you Farna and Lux."

_::But I didn't do anything:: _I chirped.

Farna nipped back at me, gently, _::You were there for her, Lux-spark. You carried her great soul with your own great soul. You are a dragon to praise, kitten. And your humility makes you an even greater dragon hero. You held her in place for me, Lux. You saw me in the cavern after I lost Banadaspos. I was crying inside, not able to go back to our camp because I was waiting for my Rider.::_

She nickered and nuzzled Setareh who squeezed her harder and made sure I was a part of the three way embrace.

:_:And I kept my word,:: _Farna said, :_: I waited for my Rider. And the wait is over. For my new Rider is Setareh and... in some strange way... you, Lux.:: _


	13. Take Back Your Mission

**Ch 13**

**Take Back Your Mission**

**Disclaimer: **Only two things are certain in life: death and taxes. Oh, yes, I forget that there's one more: I don't own the concept of Terrible Terrors, Hiccup or Toothless. They belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

"Hand the people a scapegoat to hate. Let them kill a scapegoat occasionally for cathartic release. The mechanism is ages old. Tyrants used it centuries before the word 'psychology' was ever invented. It works, too." R. A. Heinlein, _Revolt in 2100_

* * *

I wondered about Farna's comments to Lux as we continued our journey.

She would not explain it- even felt she could not explain it. Then, again, Farna has ever enjoyed being a bit of a mystical fuddy-duddy. I guess it goes with the territory of bonding when you are older and also bonding with a Scepter Holder.

All Farna could explain was that she had felt the same link drawing her to Setareh when she saw Lux. And, when Setareh and she bonded, she felt as if Lux had also bonded with her.

It was quite strange, when one thinks of it. We Turkmenes don't really need to bond with dragons. If they allow us to mindlink with them, we can communicate just fine. And Gatalas and I had not needed to have a special bond with a dragon to get him or her to cooperate with us on chores when we guided that being across the steppes.

Then, again, we weren't in the steppes anymore. We were in a region that was on the really odd side of weird. I probably shouldn't think on these things until we back, safe and sound, in our nice steppes where we had nice, predictable disasters like Red Deaths, singing strigas, giant worms, tornadoes, hail, locusts, droughts, floods and blizzards.

We all had our morning meal, and it did lighten my tough buzzard's heart to see Farna devour a good size nosebag of our high energy feed. I wished we also had some hay for her, but she did use opportunities to snatch at still-green blades of grass through the day as rode on. She was making up for days without food, and she needed it.

We had kept her saddle and armor, but Farna refused to wear it.

_::That part of my life is over. I am not a Scepter Holder's war mare any longer. ::_ she snorted softly,_ :: I am a forge priest's companion now. And I want to wear Ravenwing's tack.::_

It made more sense since that fine gelding's saddle and harness had been designed as much for Setareh's body measurements as for Ravenwing, and the forge priests were good at making harnesses. So it was no difficulty to get the harness and saddle adjusted to fit comfortably on Farna.

Setareh bit her tongue to keep her face steady as she clipped on the harness and brushed a few, brilliant blue-black hairs from the harness.

However, the tack and harness came to life in a new way on Farna. The harness leather had been so dark it was one snort short of black. The dark color stood out strikingly against Farna's ivory-colored coat. Simple, but elegant, but inlaid with tamga runes and depictions of fire tongues and dragons- the harness of a forge priest's Turkmene.

The one concession from her former harness was the beautifully woven fly guard, attached to a simple leather halter. Since the cremello Turkmene had no mane or forelock, she appreciated the leather protecting her brow.

It did her a lot of good, especially since we did encounter gnats and mosquitoes (oh, they are _so _useless- only created to make us appreciate flies!)

Having the extra back was such a relief, too, since Farna could now share the load. Once saddled and packed, our riders got ready to mount.

Setareh, used to Ravenwing's shorter height, had some trouble at first. Eventually Farna glanced calmly at her new Rider and knelt on her front legs so the small red-headed woman could slide aboard.

Once aboard, Setareh's blue eyes widened when she saw just how tall Farna was and how high above the ground she was. Farna must have reassured the young woman that she would not let her fall off, for Setareh smiled broadly and stroked the mare's neck.

I had rarely been so close to Farna before, since Gatalas and I had been further back in the ranks in the Sand Spitters Unit. Now that she was standing tall and proud, even I was startled by how tall the war mare was. We Turkmenes are tall for horses, and I am on the tall side of average for my kind. I would stand what you Firemakers would say is 15 and a half hands. Farna was easily 18 hands, the tallest Turkmene I'd seen. No wonder she was a horse for a war lord.

Or a Master Blacksmith? I hoped it was an omen of good things to come for the scrawny blacksmith's future as she grew into her destiny.

Farna was not the only one whose height took me by surprise. I heard a little bark by Gatalas feet and saw Lux rise up on his hind legs and tap Gatalas on his shin with his now unbandaged left front paw. Gatalas' blind eyes widened in surprise as he "saw" the dragon kitten through my eyes. How things do change! A short while ago Lux was hissing and spitting at my kind Rider , seeing him as a River Rat stand in.

Gatalas noticed that, too, for he gave his rare, sweet grin of friendship and lowered a hand, "Certainly, Lux. Come aboard."

_::Don't mind if I do, Mr. Firemaker/Monster!::_

Gatalas was grinning now in genuine delight- for the first time Lux had "spoken" directly to him, as he could to Setareh.

Lux wound around the blind archer's arm like a leggy snake, his incredible tail flowing in deep gray, pearly segments. For a moment he perched in Gatalas' now-cupped hands, but he had to sit up on his hind legs to do so, placing front paws on my Rider's shoulder.

Had it only been a short while ago Lux's starved, mostly dead little body had lain in Gatalas' cupped palms? Now he was growing a pad of flesh on his ribs, his badly-scarred coat now quietly rippled with new subtle highlights, and he had grown larger in a short while.

_::You're getting big, fast!::_ I told him.

Lux chirped in delight as he leapt to Gatalas' shoulder and then onto my saddle bow_, ::I think you're right, Eyeful! I do know my leg is healing so fast, and Toothless had seemed to indicate to me that dragons do heal fast normally- when they have good care.:: _He flicked his wings against his side, and stared at the various whitening slashes along his sleek sides::_But my scars still seem to be the same. I wish they would fade away. And I wish I would grow older faster. I wanna flyflyfly… naow!::_

_::Watch yourself, kiddo. When you get to be an old drake, you won't be wishing you would grow older faster.:: _

I heard a chorus of agreements in the sky above me as Amazons dipped and swirled.

Gatalas swung up on me with a fluid motion, not using the stirrups- they were still something he was getting used to. Lux settled behind him on the saddle packs, murmuring wishes that there would be another loooong ridge so he could practice tethered flying again.

"So you're hitching a ride with Horsebutt and me?" Gatalas told the kitten, "I thought you would prefer to stick with Lady 'She Who Likes Blowing Things Up'."

_::Change of view_,:: Lux said matter-of-factly, _::And Farna's kinda scary. I have to get used to her. I mean, she seems wise and noble, but still- something about her is very imposing. I don't think she'd like jokes. Imagine calling her a nickname like 'Horsebutt' or 'Sweet Plates.' ::_ he glanced at the sky, _::Besides you're the one who I know would keep me tethered if I wanted to practice flying, so I want to stick near you for that reason.::_

I shook my head to discourage an early morning fly, _::Well, _that's_ a relief- I was worried that there was no ulterior motive and you were only doing this because you like me. Well, now I know things are normal, I can relax, ::_ I told Lux with irony, _::You'd better be extra nice to li'l ole Horsebutt, then, Lux-spark.::_

_::Will do, Eyeful-ma'am. I'll even save half of my evening broth for you- and I'll share half of anything I hunt today!:: _

_::Much appreciated, Lux, especially since I am an obligatory herbivore. ::_

"Be nice now, Horsebutt,"Gatalas laughed at me,"It's the thought that counts."

* * *

We set off (after I bucked a bit to remind my passengers I was the one in charge, in spite of their attitude), now with me in the lead as Farna and Setareh slowed back to get used to each others' style of movements. Her flank had healed quite well, but she still was stiff on it, especially at the beginning of each day. Kourosh padded next to the bone colored Turkmene, tail wagging in anticipation of another day of journeying.

Above us, the Sisters of the Scale flew, spreading ahead to scout the terrain around us. They were certainly becoming good comrades in arms.

I followed the stream at an easy going trot until I saw a Sister flying over another cross marker on the other side of the river: the entrance taking us onto the Tihuţa Pass and into the Bârgău Range section of the Carpathians.

Farna and I splashed across the river, its bracing chill causing the blood in my legs to rush faster and invigorate me. It was a small river with a current that was more playful than strong. Even the fish were playful, and a few nipped at my legs as I strode across.

The water splashed a bit on Gatalas' booted legs, making him give an almost horse like snort at the cold. Then we were up on the other side. Behind us came Farna, the water barely coming up to her ankles. And Kourosh, bounding across and then shaking himself until a flurry of water drops burst from his wire-haired sides

And then we strode past the marker and onto the quite well-used trail of the Tihuţa Pass.

* * *

"_Zmeu_!" the goatherd hissed through his blackened teeth as he took in the oddly-dressed, shaggy barbarians in front of him.

"Bless you!" Setareh said with a bright, friendly and yet feral grin, "Sorry, but I have no handkerchief on me."

"_Nu, nu, vă barbari!"_ the goatherd said in rising frustration, waving a gnarled fist, _"Zmeu! Zmeu! Uită-te!"_

The old man used his wooden staff to scratch a figure in the dirt. We all watched it take shape (well, all of us earth bound creatures. The Sisters and Lux were hiding and following at a well-concealed distance.)

The drawing was quick and primitive, but what emerged was undeniably the winged, demonic creature that had fought with Ravenwing.

"_Acesta este un Zmeu!"_ the goat herd said and grinned, well pleased with himself.

"Charming," whispered Gatalas, picking up the vision from my side turned head, "I always like to put a name to a face."

Well, at least we knew who had attacked us and led to Ravenwing's end: a zmeu. Just one of the many wonderful, welcoming and cute local wildlife ready to eat us- oops- I meant _meet_ us.

For the last two hours, we had all been treated to a discourse on the local flora and fauna, courtesy of our unofficial goat herd guide. We had happened upon this lonely soul, watching goats in this high, lonely pass, taking advantage of the last fall weather before the regional herd was brought back down to the valley for the winter. The goatherd lived in a small hut in the pass. He would milk the she goats each day. The milk was then used to make cheese, another duty the shepherd assisted with, along with some farmers who could come up here a few times a month to assist with the process. In between those visits, it could get quite lonely. Since Setareh and Gatalas spoke Broomhead, and it was quite similar to the local language (Roan-mane-yun I think it is), it put the rancid old herder over the moon with joy.

It was getting on the Firemakers' nerves, especially since the old fellow appeared not to be an active member of the Frequent Bathers' Society, but they listened attentively and politely. This man knew the Tihuţa Pass well, and he might give us a clue to possible mind-enthralling creatures... or where the portal would be.

But we certainly had to listen to a lot of descriptions about loose morals and young people these days just not knowing how to do an honest day's work and the annoying increase of bandits and, my, our horses were strange and ugly and too scrawny and maybe not fit for the mountain riding? No offense, friends, just making a friendly observation. Maybe you should trade in your walking fishbones for some good, sturdy Huţul and Konik ponies from the Polish Carpathians. Now, those are horses with good mountain sense! And nothing, _nothing_, beats a good donkey or mule... or, even, walking for that matter!

In appreciation for his comment on my physical appearance I stepped on one of the man's feet, accidentally on purpose-like. Whoops!

The farmer walked by us as we traveled. He was moving the goats to a different grazing area to keep them from over-browsing the high mountain pastures, and we Turkmenes found ourself awash in a stream of shaggy, strong smelling goats as they milled among us. They moved along to their herder's prodding, surprisingly accommodating for creatures known for their independent nature. I imagine they and the goat herd had worked out some agreement long ago. A female with a bell led the way, and the goat herd let her be our "lead mare." He mainly concentrated on poking stragglers here and there back into the flock with his staff.

Setareh and Farna tried to help with the herding and were awarded for their efforts with some angry goat head butts against Farna's belly. She squealed and kicked back.

Obviously, these goats felt we were not respect-worthy.

The hackles rose on Kourosh's long spine and he sighted his keen eyes on the goats. He was a hunting dog and a guard dog, and he didn't like to see his mistress and her new Turkmene being used as target practice.

Setareh called out a command to her sighthound, and the elegant saluki desisted. He looked up at her and woofed with regret, but he would not disobey.

Suddenly I snorted in surprise as Gatalas yelled, "_Hey, vâysâ!_"

A piebald goat skittered away from me, part of Gatalas' riding coat hem in her mouth. I snapped at her as she fled, catching some goat fur in my mouth for my efforts. She ran away, bleating, the ragged hem disappearing into her mouth like common grass. I swear, her barred pupiled eyes flashed at me in naughtiness as she chewed the strip of coat, wadding it into her mouth. Then she worked her teeth, her cheeks swollen with Gatalas' coat.

"Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a, " she told me with grave indignity.

Goats are very canny, but they cannot mind link. Still, I got the message that Gatalas and I were being told what part of goat hell we could inhabit. It seems she did not take very kindly to my stepping on her Firemaker's foot.

Well, my caprine friend, maybe he brought it on himself for saying that I, a Turkmene who can navigate mountains, snow and desert on just a handful of barley and a sip of water..._ I _am no match for a... a... a... stocky little mountain pony! Or a- blech- donkey!

I am sure you would have done the same if you were a Turkmene. We _do_ have images to maintain. Yes, I know those Polish mountain ponies are descended from the wild tarpans, a very ancient tribe who, indeed, is clever. I've never met one myself, but I think even the tarpans would agree, we Turkmenes_ are_ the superior breed!

That's like comparing you Firemakers to lemurs and saying you are the less intelligent one because you are not as cute. Ha! See what I mean?

"You're almost as bad as a Lightning Breather, Horsebutt," Gatalas chuckled to me as he rubbed my neck, "But, thanks for sticking up for me."

_::Of course, Ape Face. Always and always. Though Darya's not going to be happy knowing you had your coat torn up by a goat.::_

"Darya? The one who loves all caravan animals? The one I hope will become the Master Herder of our caravan- like dad was? Naaah! She knows goats will eat anything and everything plant based. They'd even eat their own teeth to be ornery if it wouldn't keep them from eating and destroying other things. But I do feel bad since she gave me that coat for a Sada gift last year." He scratched my withers, "Don't worry. These aren't festival clothes, doostam. They are made for wear and tear."

_::I know... but... a... bloody... goat!:: _

I actually admire goats and their clever feistiness... but from a distance. Up close, they are too much in my face- especially their teeth.

The goat herder's discourse on wayward youth was made more interesting by a few more descriptions of monsters. A few subtle queries from Setareh and Gatalas revealed there were no legends about monsters that somehow entrapped dragons and made them become raiding terrors. We knew the _zmeu_ was not one such dragon; it had not mind-trapped the Sisters of the Scale or Lux, though it had kidnapped both the scarred kitten and Purple Sonja.

We did hear lots about _vârcolac_ wolf-demons who swallowed the sun and moon; and _Moroi_, ghosts who leave their graves to suck the life essence out of the nearby living. We heard about an utterly charming shape changing witch named _Muma Pădurii_who lived in a little house deep in the hidden heart of the mountains and kidnapped children for slaves. And lots and lots and lots about a great horse warrior from the Lands of Amber who drank the blood of young women to be immortal.

Setareh's face, in response, drained of all blood as she heard this, but she gritted her teeth. Farna nickered at her to calm her, and she smiled and pat the war mare appreciatively on the neck. That made me think about Setareh's story of why she had grown up as a boy. She had been hiding from a similar horse-lord who drank women's blood to stay young, but this had been on _our _Caesar Broomhead timeline, not _this_ timeline. But, apparently, the same blood sucking warlord myth existed in this timeline, too! And he had also come from the Amber Lands of the Baltics, the region where Setareh had grown up.

But he obviously could not be a Sarmatian... our tribes here had died out from a regional pandemic.

Gatalas took up the questioning, asking what tribe this blood sucker was from. The goat herd made a dramatic display of spitting at a tree and said a name that our Firemakers had never heard before. Something that loosely translated into "foreigner." Well, that was not too helpful. A foreign horse-lord. That could be anything that involved a human sitting on a horse. Even a little kid riding a stick pony, for that matter.

It was just as the goat herd reached the new pastures for his flock that he mentioned a word that made both the Firemakers stiffen in the saddles, and both Turkmenes flatten their ears.

"_Balaur,_" the goat herd said as he shooed his goats into the grazing area that was rife with the perfect thorny and nasty dried stuff goats seem to think is high cuisine, "_El este regele de dragoni. El are multe capete. El are ochi multe. Aripile sale ascunde cerul."_ As he spoke, the goatherd laid a hand on his head and raised his other hand, showing several fingers, indicating more than one. Then he did the same, pointing to his eyes and again raising his other hand to show numbers. Finally he made a motion like flying with his hands.

Gatalas was "seeing" this through me, and I turned my head to give him a better view.

_::Hmmm. He says this is the king of dragons. Many are his heads and many are his eyes. The wings from him cover the sky. Odd image. And scary.::_ Gatalas sent to me, and I passed it, via Farna, to Setareh.

They found it no less pretty than we did. Both Setareh and Gatalas asked the goat herd if he knew anything about the _balaur's_ attack methods or why he was the king of dragons.

The goat herd gave a long and colorful explanation that he was just passing on stories he had heard, and he has never seen a _balaur._ He had no idea what such creatures did, but he had heard it from some very reliable sources that the _balaur _was the king of dragons. Just take it or leave it, folks! And don't you want to stay for lunch? Please? I have many more stories! I'll even make up a few if that keeps you here a while longer.

Gatalas blew between his teeth, and I picked up his frustration. Was the tale of the great _balaur_, the King of Dragons, just some wonderful made-up story to keep us talking to the goat herd and stave off his loneliness?

We shared a quick and very early lunch with the goat herd- dried lamb meat and apples along with his goat cheese and smoked river eel. It made the old man so happy. He continued to enrich us on the corrupt morals of the youth of the valley, but at least we got some tales and some geographical tips and, best of all, the chance to replenish our supplies.

The grateful goatherd happily traded some of our village regional silver coins for goat jerky and some travelers' goat cheese, and he even included some extra goat cheese in the bargain. It was his way of thanking us for spending some extra time keeping company with a kind, lonely mountain herder.

I wondered what the old man's impressions of the Sarmatians and we Turkmenes and Kourosh would turn into in the tales the old man spun to those in his region.

The old man pointed out we had a surprise ahead of us, one created by one of the few benevolent beings of the mountain, the _Sânziene,_ or good spirits. It was late in the year for them to manifest, since they preferred early summer, but this creation had been made by them a very long time ago, in the Golden Age. (Whenever that was. I often wonder why is it that Firemakers like to believe the Golden Age is never the present age?)

Then he left us, wishing us pleasant journey through Tihuţa Pass and and the Bârgău Range. During our discussion with the old man, we learned the region we were riding through also had several another name: the Borgo Pass, and the broader area was known as _Ultrasylvania, _the land beyond the forests.

The surprise turned out to be a hot spring fed stream secluded in a little wooded grotto. It was a welcome surprise, both for we land-bound folk, and for the dragons who joined us after we parted company from the goat herd.

Lux had been carried by some of the Sisters while they followed us, concealing themselves in their clever style. While Lux loved the attention from the Amazons, he had felt hobbled that he could not fly on his own yet. He was very adamant about wanting to be a useful member of our quest.

Lux was thrilled by the hot springs and purred in joy for all us, making Gatalas and Setareh grin in spite of themselves. Sarcastic humor is a part of the Sarmatian of life. We love it, but it does not endear us to the Firemakers we meet. Lux, in spite of all his abuses and tortures, still had managed to keep a sense of wonder and joy. In many ways, his childish joy at the simple things we all took for granted made we Sarmatians and the Amazons think again about how lucky we were to be free.

That hot spring fed stream turned all of us into Lux for a while. There was a period of purring, trilling, laughing, neighing and general joy.

The water was not pleasant to drink, with a metallic taste and a strong sulfuric smell, but it was pleasantly warm to my muzzle. I let myself be a foal for a moment. I ducked my muzzle under the water to blow bubbles in the warm water. Bubbles rippled back at me. I lifted my head and caught a glimpse of the elegant Farna doing the same thing. Bubbles popped in the air above her muzzle. She looked back at me. I nickered at her and then, to my surprise, she whickered in happiness and nickered back. Then she plunged her nose in the water and blew massive, proud bubbles worthy of a war mare.

Maybe she was not as much of a fuddy duddy as I had thought!

I was glad to see her do that. So were the Firemakers, who laughed at both our antics.

Gatalas and Setareh unsaddled we Turkmenes and turned us loose to roll in the dried yellow grass around the grotto. It was not the end of the day, but both Firemakers would not turn down a quick chance to wash their faces and hands and soak their bare feet in the narrow brook. It was too small for them to do a complete wash, and they were still stiffly aware of each other's personal boundaries now that Setareh's gender was known.

The dog and dragons had no such inhibitions. They all plunged into the little stream. Soon, a splash fight erupted as dragons were splashing each other and trying to tag each other. Kourosh barked and ran among them, shaking his silky ears.

Once I finished giving myself a nice roll, I sat up and shook myself. Farna dropped her Mother Superior act, stood side to side with me, and started grooming my mane and shoulders with her teeth, teasing knots out of my reddish mane and my shoulder muscles. I returned the favor, grooming her neck and shoulders with my teeth. We Turkmenes- and most horse People- cannot reach our own neck and shoulders with our teeth to groom them, so we rely on other horses - and our good Riders- to groom those areas for us. It's a sign of friendship and trust.

I also noticed that the short-necked Sisters of the Scale were in the same position. They could not easily clean their own shoulders or neck, so after their bath, they groomed each other. Lux gained a lot of points with the Amazons since he was long necked, and he gladly licked, teethed and groomed clean the necks, shoulders and backs of any Sisters who needed it. I was glad to see that our kitten friend was showing he might not be able to hunt yet, but he was still very useful.

I also realized that Setareh's self confidence jumped up a lot because of Gatalas and his blindness. My Rider may have been the first Firemaker Setareh encountered who could not see her, so she eventually removed her coat, kirta and long sleeved shirt. Now only in her riding trousers and sleeveless under shirt, she quickly washed her arms. Gatalas was separated from me and my vision, so he could not see this. Anyway, he also happened to be doing the exactly same washing of his arms, scraping off sweat and dust from the last few days 'riding.

I saw Setareh, of course, but being a Turkmene and not a FIremaker, I only noted how thin her body still was after the fever that ravaged her and that the shirt hung off her frame, showing sharp collar bones. I saw also the outline of small breasts, like those of a girl just becoming a woman, once again, probably her system slowly recovering. Her functional riding and forge clothes, along with her boy like face, covered any indication she was not a teenaged boy. I think if Setareh somehow would suddenly be able to grow her hair long and try wearing women's clothing, she would feel very awkward and would not fit in. The truth was she was handsome rather than beautiful. Nothing wrong with that, I think.

It also made me realize how Gatalas was even more awkward around Setareh than she was around him. Surely, even though he could not see her, he must notice she had a natural feminine scent (though, I admit you Firemakers are not very good with the meanings and messages of scents. ) But he kept a distance from Setareh that seemed as much from tension as it was respecting her gender.

Once again I wondered what had made a man so socially shy and awkward around other Firemakers, but so comfortable around Turkmenes and dragons?

I knew, of course, he would have a hard time convincing a woman he loved of his devotion since Firemaker attraction is based so much on physical perfection. My understanding, based on whispered comments from the young and silly girls from the village and from Sarmatian girls of other caravans was that Gatalas could have been very handsome if he were not blind.

Apparently, rumor says, he once was considered a gorgeous young Sarmatian teenager to the ladies. His natural shyness kept him from being arrogant and unaware that others had seen him as beautiful, so he was never the proverbial ladies' man.

And then IT had happened. The Thundering Victory thundered, and then there was only Darya and Gatalas left . Their parents and their youngest brother did not survive the Thundering Victory.

Strangers who met Gatalas would immediately notice his odd silver eyes, and the way his eyes strayed in odd directions. And, a lot of the time, his blind-gray pupils would roll up high into his lids so Firemakers only saw whites. It was something creepy to most Firemakers- more than a few even had wondered if Gatalas were possessed by a demon. We both knew that Gatalas' appearance did take getting used to, and an ability to see beyond the physical attributes.

That's asking a lot of many Firemakers, sadly.

All good things come to an end, eventually, and it was time to press on.

"Gatalas! Here! Look here- well- uh- you can't look, can you.- but- oh dear, you know what I am trying to say!" Setareh called, picking up her riding coat from where she had draped it on a stone.

Gatalas was close by. He followed her voice and dropped down on his knees by the stone. Setareh placed his hand on the stone, and then my Rider was tracing the lines of a design carved into the soapstone. His eyebrows widened as his nimble fingers told him what that familiar design was. By this time I had reached the stone, so he could reach up a hand to touch my leg and borrow my eyes, confirming his suspicions.

It was a tamga rune, a carving of a two-horned triangle above a horizontal line that had three, slightly curved vertical "legs." Both Gatalas and I knew it: Gatalas wore it as a tattoo on one arm and I as a brand on my left flank.

"That's the tamga of the Sandspitters!" Gatalas called out, excitement charging his voice, "Setareh, Horsebutt! The Sandspitters unit was here! My unit! They're still alive!"

"Oh, yes!" Setareh shouted in relief and did an air punch while I whinnied in relief. Our friends were still alive! Skuda, Striker, and all the others... hopefully still alive and well. The mission was not yet over!

That sense of hope lent a spring to our steps as we continued moving along the Tihuţa Pass, now keeping our senses open for signs of our unit. We were not a large one, but still thirty to forty horses can make a significant impact on the ground.

And we soon saw unshod hoof prints in the ground and the bent dried grass stems of their passing. They did not have the benefit of the special shoes I was wearing, so there were some marks where horses had skidded on bare rock. The Tihuţa Pass was a wide spread, sprawling route with rolling, grassy hills- not so many trees. A cavalry unit would find this more comfortable terrain then the more steep Prislop pass of our first day in the mountains.

"I wonder what direction they came from?" Gatlalas mused to me as I moved at my trademark fast amble, following the tracks, "We're only now hooking up with them. We didn't see any sign of hoof prints in the Prislop and Rodna passes."

_::We were split apart into three divisions:: _Farna thought-sent, and I translated this to my Rider, _::Our band was the one following the most direct route, but I think Banadaspos wanted the other units to sweep around the sides and come in at the bandits, but the other divisions never came to support us when we were attacked. Who knows what separated them from us?:: _She shook her head in sorrow_, ::Our division was riding for quite a while before we encountered the enemy, so we had put some serious distance between the others and us. But this seems the Sandspitters really had wandered far out of the way if we only are seeing their tracks here.::_

"Hopefully we'll learn that soon from the Sandspitters themselves," Gatalas responded grimly.

Behind him, on the pack behind the saddle cantle, Lux looked down, following the tracks of hooves heading over the brow of the slope before us. The sky stretched above, now autumn blue with a few streamers of clouds. The kitten flicked his tongue out, scenting the air, trying to sense more useful clues for us.

We followed the tracks, making good pace. Our hopes kept rising and rising as we moved further along. Oh, to see our comrades again! To reassure each other we were still alive! Gatalas was excited, but I could also sense a bit of tension in him, too.

_::I've been tossed out, so I hope they won't be _too_ disappointed to see me. I know good ole Rasparagnus was never my biggest fan.::_

I snorted and was about to toss back a reassurance well-laced with sarcasm when something got our attention.

Mostly because the something was nothing.

The hoof prints abruptly ended at the top of the saddle-brow. They were heading in a straight line and then just disappeared. The now- unmarked track flowed ahead from us, spreading into a distant horizon beautifully crowned by two pine-covered mountain slopes.

Looks like we had found our portal, and, on a mountain pass- _not_ in one of the valleys or foothills, as we had anticipated! We were expecting to see it today, but not here, not this soon! Welcome to the Carpathian mountains and the mysterious Tihuţa Pass- aka the Borgo Pass! It's the place where nothing makes sense.

Well, we knew the general location, but where, exactly, was the portal? Gatalas and I and Darya had seen a portal not long ago when looking for stray sheep. We didn't seem to have any of that luck today.

Wings fluttered as the Amazons landed around us, chattering away.

_::Yo! Whad's goin' on here, Firemakers? Looks like a terrible spot for a camp! Led's move along, huh, idiots?::_ Purple Sonja offered politely.

_::Yes! This is boring. Nothing to fight. Or eat.::_ Blossom agreed, _::Just a bunch of hoof prints that... ooh. That's weird. Since when do horses fly?::_

_::Do you see anything ahead of us? Anything involving shimmering mirages?:: _I sent to the Sisters, _::We're looking for a portal.::_ I also included a mental image of the waving, shimmering portal that Gatlalas, Darya and I had seen.

The Sisters split up and flew ahead, cartwheeling and spinning, checking out the terrain from all angles. They got a few good arguments and claw fights out of it when some Sisters banged into each other. It erupted into rather silly insults about ancestry, hissing, and general clawing. It always ended abruptly with only dignity being hurt. Entertaining, to be sure, but no useful information for our quest.

_::Da's a big negative,::_ Sonja said for her troop, finally, when they reconvened and landed by my hooves :_:Youse sure dere's somet'in here? Looks pretty vacant ta me.::_ She flashed a little dragon grin at me, _::Maybe ya inhaled sometin' from da hot spring when ya snorted in da water, horsie. 'Cuz dere sure ain't nothin' here but a whole lot of nothin'::_

I rolled my eyes and decided not to respond to such a profound statement.

Farna stepped up by me and stared ahead, nostrils flaring. Setareh leaned forward on her back, gazing into the distance.

"Can't you see it, Setareh? You are a priest." Gatalas urged helpfully, tightening his gloved hand on my neck harness grip.

"Yes, I usually can see the gates, but this one is throwing me. I sense it, but not powerful enough sensations to identify the location. Darn, I was hoping I could see it more easily than this!" Setareh said, squinting her eyes and flaring her nostrils so she wound up copying her Turkmene, "The Star Priests are better at it, but we Forge Priests still can pick up on the basic signs. Anyway, Gatalas, you've seen a portal, right? I remember one of the Star Priests telling me that you and your little sister found one recently."

Gatalas nodded, briefly explaining that annoying, rainy day when I had carried the brother and sister into a portal. (I don't enjoy taking two people on my back, so I admit I was not at my most winning and charming on that day. Still, the experience had been quite fascinating.) Normally it's the priests who can detect these portals, but some of the priests had thought that maybe having close relatives in proximity to each other was the key. The bond of blood combined with the bond of Rider and Partner had triggered us to see the portal.

"I see," Setareh said softly, "Lux, can you just move a little bit further back on Eyeful and I'll just..."

_::Holy Hrani- what are you doing! Ouch! Hey!::_

_::Setareh! Why are you climbing off me?::_

"What in the name of the Lie? Setareh? Arrgh! Oof! Who said you could...?"

I would have bucked if the load on my back had not just increased. Now, Setareh sat behind Gatalas on my clenched back and Lux had perched himself on Gatalas' shoulder.

I gave a horse whistle-squeal in irritation. I am no cute pony at a Firemaker village party giving rides to the itty bitty kiddies!

"Okay!" Setareh said brightly, "Hey, Eyeful, you've got more stripes on you than I ever would have guessed. You're almost like an African zebra!"

"Pwrf gwt yr hndz 'ff 'f m'mouff?" Gatalas said hoarsely.

"Oh, sorry, Gatalas," Setareh removed her hand from his face; she had slid on quite fast and not realized she had blocked my Rider's mouth.

_::Women!:: _Gatalas snorted to me- and, then, to Setareh, "Pray, do tell, just what are you attempting?"

Setareh's voice came from my back, a strange sensation for me since she had always been on another Turkmene, "Look- all of you! Open your eyes and see! There it is! Just as you say, Gatalas!"

And we three saw the shimmering borders of the portal, set just a bit to the left of where we stood. It was the twin to the shimmering portal Gatalas, Darya and I had experienced.

"B-b-but we're not related," Gatalas finally said, matching my thoughts perfectly.

"I know," Setareh breathed, "But it's still working for us. Maybe we somehow are related, Gatalas- some long distant ancestor. Or it's simply because I am a priest. I just had to try it out sitting behind you and see what happened."

Gatalas' voice thinned a bit in skepticism, "How we could be related escapes me, if you came from the Baltics and I grew up in Pannonia."

Setareh nodded while I began to paw in irritated frustration at their inactivity, "But we're both from the Iazyges tribe, so maybe we do have a distant ancestor. That, and me being a priest, must both have had an influence."

I snorted and snapped at the air with my sizeable teeth :_:Can you two continue this scientific theory of relativity at a quieter time? The gate is in front of us! Let's go, or let's stay, but let's DO SOMETHING!::_

Gatalas could not agree with me more. He nudged me with his heels gently and I plunged forward, leaping through the portal. Warm energy waves stroked my sides, and then I was on the other side! My hooves thudded into green grass. It smelled divine!

It looked exactly like it had before... except now there were hoof prints running into the distance.

And it was much warmer... late summer instead of fall.

_::Whoa! The temperature got hot, suddenly. And it smells like summer! That is just too amazing!:: _Lux purred in surprise, as Farna, Kourosh and the Sisters of the Scale all slid through and joined me in this hotter, greener version of the Tihuţa Pass.

Amazed, I felt Gatalas nudge my sides again, and I walked forward. Farna, Kourosh and the dragons clopped, padded or winged along in our wake. We moved carefully, senses stretched out to take in any sign of an enemy.

Eventually we came to another Tamga rune, this one carved into the trunk of a long dead tree. Once again it was the _triangle-on-line-with-legs symbol_ of the Sandspitters. But this time, the tamgas for "follow" and "meet" and "ahead" were added in. Gatalas knew those symbols; every Sarmatian brat was taught them and their meanings. It was by no means a written language like Broomhead markings, but symbols were an easy way to tell an illiterate people about locations and identities. And, most importantly, warnings.

This did not seem to be a warning, though. It was a hope from our Sandspitter comrades that other units had crossed over as well. Both Galatas and I were impressed how cunningly the markings had been made in the tree- almost subtle in their patterns. Only a Sarmatian would have seen they were more than natural wood grain.

At this point, Setareh swung off my back, and I sighed in relief to be back to one Rider again. I watched as the young woman ran a hand over the carvings on the dead tree. She looked at her hands and rubbed them, small bits of bark dropping from her palms. She nodded, as if working out something with herself, then walked over to Farna to tighten the girths on the battle mare's saddle. Farna nickered softly and nudged the girl, as if she, too, seemed to be considering the same thing.

"Gatalas," Setareh said, wiping her brow, "That carving and the horse prints are pretty new. The Sandspitters can't be more than two days ahead of you. The mission's still alive, so we should go back to the original plan."

Gatalas leaned back, trying to stay calm, and I pawed at the ground, picking up the nervous anticipation from my Rider, "You mean, Setareh, that I go on and deliver the Draco to the Sandspitters- and, hopefully, other units who made it?"

Setareh nodded, "Yes. Eyeful is much faster than Farna, I think, and Farna is also getting over an arrow wound. Dear Ravenwing was just barely able to keep up with Eyeful. You and your Turkmene were pegged for this mission, remember, because you're both among the fastest bond pairing out there. The original idea was that we would locate the portal, I would get you over it, and then you would go on to deliver the Draco at top speed.

"With Banadaspos gone, the Roughnecks need the Draco more than ever. And, don't forget, some of the Sandspitter unit Star Priests survived too, for them to help the unit get over the portal. They'll know what to do with the Draco. And it'll be there to protect them from whatever it is that has been ensorcelling dragons- that_ balaur_?."

"And what about you, Setareh?" Gatalas asked, tightly, worry in his voice.

"Pshaw! I go back, like I was originally supposed to. It's even more important than ever I get back, Gatalas, to let the caravan priests know what happened to Banadaspos and the Side Stranglers." Setareh stroked Farna's broad, bare neck, "Farna's surefooted in these mountains, so I think we'll make good speed back to canyon where we overnighted with the caravan, then we can head northeast for a few hours. I know of a place in the area where I could try to patch a communications link with the caravan priests."

_::Ahhh, more of that amazing technology we Sarmatians are not to supposed to know about?:: _Gatalas thought sent to me.

_::If so, why didn't we do that before, after we saw the devastated Side Stranglers?:: _I sent to Gatalas, but then realized it would have taken us well out of our way, put more time on the journey. It would also give more time for scavengers to pick over the battlefield of any useful clues. The current need when we saw the decimated unit was to find out more about the situation before reporting home for reinforcements. Maybe it was not the wisest decision we could have made considering we were so few, but Setareh, Gatalas and we Turkmenes knew we had a narrow opportunity to collect information.

This led to some interesting arguing between the Firemakers as they worked out why/why not about splitting up. It was namely Gatalas being worried about Setareh's safety as she made her way back alone. Setareh kept pointing out this would not have been the case if he had still thought her a well armed teenaged boy on a powerful war horse. The rest of the world outside of her priest community and immediate family thought she was one, and she had been traveling on her own between caravans as a journeyman for some time now. Besides, she still had her wards, her lovely explosive devices, her bow, and her dagger. She knew how to fight, and she happened to have the protection of a powerful war mare (a war chieftain's mare, too) and a swift, cunning Sarmatian saluki hound.

In the end, Setareh won, pointing out that she would actually be safer than Gatalas, since she knew the hazards we had already crossed, and he was riding into the unknown.

That appealed to my Rider's sense of responsibility (and adventure), so all was well on the Sarmatian front.

There was still plenty of daylight, so both Firemakers could make good time. Supplies were divided up hastily, and Farna's old harness rolled up and tied on top of the packs behind her saddle. It would become the harness of the next Scepter Holder's horse- if we all survived this adventure.

Two Amazons, Myrtle O' No Mercies and Primrose the Berserk, volunteered to go with Setareh and her companions.

That touched me quite a bit. I did not expect the Sisterhood to split up, but both Amazon Terrors wanted to help provide an extra bit of scouting and protection for the Firemaker and her companions. Besides, it meant they might have a few more adventures that the others did not experience, and that would give them some more bragging rights when (if?) the bachelorette unit got back together. They would go with Setareh as far as the edge of Nowheresville Village, and they hoped they could do some naughty nicking of Firemaker supplies and weapons from the village. Then they'd go back to Fortress Amazonia and, hopefully, reconvene with the others.

:_:Just be careful, ladies!:: _Purple Sonja warned the dark grey and the straw green/brown Amazons, :_:Stay close to da Firemaker each night and don't go out huntin' in da evenin'. Remember what happened to youse da last time!::_

_::We know, we know, Commander!:: _Primrose the Berserk replied with a reassuring purr, :_:I don't want to go through that fun experience again. And I have no wish to hurt any more innocent nightjars. ::_

Our parting of ways also meant Lux had to choose, as well. I would have bet my evening's rations that Lux would have chosen to go with Setareh, and I am glad I did not.

He made it clear he wanted to go on with Gatalas, the Sisters of the Scale and me.

_::But I can see you're most comfortable around Setareh, and you can learn a lot from her, Primrose and Myrtle.:: _I told the growing kitten_._

Lux was sprawled on his side on the ground, soaking in the sun like a scaly cat. He raised his head and rubbed it against my downturned one and trilled,_ ::Yes, but we also might meet more dragons along the way, and we still haven't met anyone who knows what kind of dragon I am.::_

:_:Indeed. And let's not forget I am useful for your flying practice and blah, blah, blah. But you do have a point there, Lux- spark. We are likely to meet a greater variety of the People as we get closer to the reason why they are attacking Firemakers, ::_ I snorted softly, _::And it's also going to get more and more dangerous, I think. ::_

_::Eh, right. That old threat of danger, again. Yawn::_ Lux casually gestured at his scarred, newly-shaded hide, :_:I'd rather be attacked as a free dragon than be a hostage of the River Rats.::_

And he growled, his growl actually carrying a real hint of strength in it, now. The little ribs, throat and lungs were growing stronger, no doubt.

_::That's the spirit, trooper!::_ I told him and touched muzzles to him.

Gatalas had been watching our exchange and nodded, "Remember, also, what the priests told us, friend. That Lux should go with us on our mission. They sensed some sort of interesting paradox about Toothlesss, the Eastern dragon going west to befriend a Viking and Lux, a dragon taken east by Vikings and there being similar problems on two borders." He nodded, "It's good he will join us."

The last thing Setareh did was to suggest that Gatalas dress himself and me in our Sandspitter armor.

"But I can't wear the armor, anymore," Gatalas protested, "I was discharged until further action could be taken. I don't have any right to wear it."

Setareh shrugged and made sure her own little fireball weapons and bow and dagger were secured to Farna's harness, "That's your choice, Gatalas. I wouldn't turn down such protection myself, if I had such armor," she winked in self depreciation, "After all, _I_ helped make your armor.

"But at least put Eyeful's armor on. Since you're approaching your own unit, it's best they see you coming as a friend, and from a distance they'll know you are one of us."

"Or that I could have stolen armor from a Sandspitter who might not have survived the journey up here?" Gatalas countered back, smiling ironically and crossing his arms on his chest.

"But would such a human be able to ride a Turkmene? I highly doubt it."

She had a point.

Grumbling, Gatalas unrolled my armor and tacked me up. I sighed in anticipation. I loved wearing my armor as much as I loved wearing my embroidered neck bands and the little wooden horned skulls that dangle from my breast collar.

It's all about accessorizing.

Setareh helped him with the deed, so soon I was, once again, a proud little Sandspitter dragon.

Gatalas, however, refused to don his armor, no matter how much Setareh, Farna and I pled with him. He kept insisting he did not deserve it.

_::You and your silly Sarmatian honor, ape face,:: _I told him sadly,_ ::Why should I be the one who gets protected and you aren't?::_

He laughed and stroked my face, securing my chamfron head guard a little more, "It means you have to protect me all the more, Horsebutt."

I snorted and nipped him hard on the arm for that comment.

Before we parted, Setareh and Gatalas both wished each other many Sarmatian blessings.

"May it be many years before you feed the worms."

"May you only see the most beautiful of sunsets and fight the ugliest of enemies."

"May all your dreams come true, especially those involving ravens and horned serpents befriending you."

"May... oh, what the hey, Gatalas!" Setareh made as if to give the symbolic Punch of Peace but then hugged Gatalas hard, "I'm going to miss your company, ya big blond lunk."

Gatalas stiffened as if he had been hit by lightning. Then slowly... slowly... he let his arms go around Setareh and hug her back. A small grin worked itself from hiding.

For a moment they held each other in their arms, two spiritually-scarred friends who had found trust and companionship on the road they shared. They released each other with a sense of reluctance.

Gatalas stroked Setareh's cheek, and she did not flinch but smiled back, her eyes glittering with genuine affection.

"I'm going to miss you, too, forge priest," Gatalas said, smiling broadly, "Now you go and use those bombs of yours to blow up any bad guys real good for me, y'hear?"

Setareh laughed throatily and tapped Gatalas' shoulder. "Why, I do believe you just invented Sarmatian redneck speech!"

"I've been hanging around Purple Sonja too long," Gatalas replied, and added, waggling his eyebrows, "Fry mah hide!"

The two Firemakers laughed and parted company, each swinging onto a Turkmene.

"Come on Kou!" Setareh called.

The fawn colored Kourosh uncurled himself from a perfect half circle and ran up to Farna, wagging his plumed tail. He lolled out his tongue and woofed in anticipation.

He ran up to me and yipped, so I lowered my nose so we could touch noses. He did the same for Lux, who stretched himself long from my back until his head reached the hound's. The sisters trilled down their farewells to him.

Gatalas reached down and pat the dog gently and then ruffled his head.

Satisfied with his farewells, Kourosh trotted back to Farna's side.

Then Farna moved off at an elegant, long-legged stride. Kourosh bounded after her, and two Sisters of the Scale soared over the Turkmene's head.

:_:Fair winds and fly well, youse Sisters and Firemaker!:: _Purple Sonja called out, and her troops all called out roars and trills.

Setareh waved and Gatalas saluted back.

"Keep yourself warm!" Both Firemakers called to each other.

Farna gave a long, proud whicker. I answered it with a loud neigh of my own. I don't think it needs any translation.

We watched the Forge Priest move towards the gate, which lay not far behind us. We had come though it so recently that we all could still see its faint shimmer.

We watched as she raised a gloved hand and then, quite suddenly, Setareh and Farna seemed to vanish into the air.

My mind filled in a missing pop sound, even though it was actually very quiet.

Behind her, Kourosh disappeared, and then Primrose and Myrtle.

Then there was nothing ahead of us but a beginning track of hooves seeming to rise from nowhere, and the wind blowing bits of grass seed and milkweed through the sky.

I felt Gatalas square up his shoulders and then say, "All right, Turkmene, my friend. Let's show how fast we can fly without wings!"

I needed no second urging. It had been too long since we had really been able to enjoy a good romp through these mountains.

_::Hang on, Lux!::_ I warned, and I heard his claws dig into the pack behind the saddle. He chirped that he was ready.

_::FLY!::_

And then I spun around and burst into a gallop.

Aahhh, that felt... GOOD!

My muscles, long clenched from powering up and down mountain slopes, stretched out in pleasure, and my lungs filled with crystal clear, late summer air. My hooves thudded the distinctive tattoo of a running horse, a primal beat that has inspired Sarmatians since ancient days.

Except now, for the first time, I galloped with a flock of dragon warriors flying overhead. It was a wonderful feeling, as though we Sarmatian Dragons really were dragon warriors in more than name.

The Amazons kept pace with me, sometimes even overshooting me, but that was a rare thing. Eventually, my endurance took over, and they started to slow down, but I continued racing along at my legendary gallop. Yes, I know I am repeating how fast I am, but that's just me. I like to flatter myself, especially since there are no other Turkmenes in the vicinity to admire my greatness.

Wind sheared past my neck, grass blades and dust flew in the air, the world seemed to flash by in tilting angles on each side.

Gatalas laughed in joy and raised his arms, clinging to me by his legs and the stirrups. Lux also laughed in joy, calling out that I was not going fast enough yet.

Now that I could move on my own we covered the pass at ground eating speed. The pass remained a broad path good for galloping, following gentle rises and falls. I knew it would eventually feed down into a valley again and I would have to slow down for steep descent, but now we could still make speed.

The sun moved lower into the sky, the edges starting to turn red and then maroon. We were not out of the pass yet, and it looked like we might need to overnight here. I was not keen on that, since this pass had less shelters and trees than the previous two passes.

_::Yo, Eyeful! Careful! Careful! ::_ Jessamine the Juggernaut called down from the sky, above us. She was the fastest of the Sisters and able to keep up with me relatively well, _::I see a Person coming our way. Be careful!::_

Heh! I gritted my teeth. Wasn't it still early in the evening for the ensorcelled dragons to be abroad? But, maybe. as we got closer to the source of this ... this ... _balaur_ , did it become easier and easier for it to ensorcel dragons and send them out earlier and earlier in the day?

I slowed down, then, realizing I should not let the Amazons drop too far behind me. If there was something about us Sarmatians that prevented the Sisters from being ensorcelled- and I was believing more and more that would be the Draco- I needed to make sure the Sisters were protected.

Gatalas leaned back, helping me as I slid my haunches into a lope and then a soft, long reaching trot. We heard the Amazons' wings as they caught up to us.

_::Dragon coming,:: I_ warned Gatalas, _::Be ready, friend,::_

He grunted in agreement, and I soon heard him retrieving and stringing his bow.

Behind him, Lux gave a nervous little bark of worry._ ::Bow or Draco?::_

That must have cued my Rider onto something else, because he urged me to stop fully. I did so, my hooves digging into the warm, thin dirt.

He rummaged on my back, and, with my backward facing equine vision, I could just see Gatalas put back the bow into its gorytas and then retrieve a very long something that had been strapped across my rump.

Lux had actually been perched just in front of it.

And then a dragon exploded into view in front us, loping over the top of hill ahead, coming down to meet us.

_::Hurry, Firemaker!:: _I called to Gatalas, tensing in place for confrontation.

It was a medium sized dragon, a long-necked, solidly built sort with vestigial wings and a ridge of large bone plates running along its humped and padded spine. Its brow carried forked sensors and two, small, spiral red and black horns. Its coat was a light brown color with gold-scaled chevrons, creating an interesting mosaic.

It charged at me, its eyes glazed. I reared up to protect my Rider from what I knew could be a very painful blast.

We had, indeed, found a Sandspitter.

It just happened to be the real thing.

Out of the corner of my eye, my back-facing vision saw Gatalas was now holding up the Draco pole in both hands. The gold-plated Draco head mounted on top gleamed in the dying light, and the red, segmented silk streamers of its tail and tongue rippled in the breeze.

Magnificent! My heart swelled, and I arched my neck in pride, imitating a proud, war dragon.

This was certainly a new experience for me: a Sandspitter fighting against a Sandspitter, but in a very ironic way.

The Sandspitter's eyes were slit pupiled, and it roared a ululating call that echoed from the hills around us. It took a breath as if to pull in oxygen, and I braced myself for its painful, scouring attack. I hoped Setareh's armor would hold true to protect me, though it had been designed for Firemaker rather than dragonic enemies.

Still I sent out a laugh of battle joy, _::Bring it on, dragon! I'll have you know I taste terrible!::_

There was a crack of air as the Sandspitter suddenly veered to my right side, claws digging into the ground, avoiding a direct blow with me. It then bolted past me, turning in a wide loop, coming back around towards me.

I turned to face it as a troop of draconic she-demons descended on the Sandspitter, claws flashing, and nasty sticky flames exploding from their mouths.

_::Take that, ya big bully!::_ Purple Sonja screeched in powerful joy, letting loose a pungent flame that flashed along the Sandspitter's side.

:_:Drink of my sticky flame of doom, you scorching fiend!::_ called out the yet unnamed gray and rose dragon

_::Jessamine! What is best in life?:: _screamed Blossom the Butcher, swooping down to claw at the Sandspitter.

_::To crush your enemies and their eggs, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their wom- I mean their dragonesses!:_ Jessamine the Juggernaut roared back.

It was a truly amazing attack, and the Sandspitter backed away, shaking its head.

Once out past the immediate range of Amazons, it tried to leap towards Gatalas and me. I reared up again, striking out with a hoof.

The Sandspitter never impacted with me, as I had dreaded. Instead, it slammed to all fours again and lowered its spiral-horned head. It shook its head again as if recovering from a daze and snarled softly, a sound resembling water bubbling up from a deep fissure.

This time, when it raised its head, its golden-green eyes were clear, not glazed, and they gazed upon all of us in flat- out amazement.

I went back down to all fours, too, and Lux trilled in delight, :_:Oooooh, that Person's hide looks exactly like your armor, Eyeful!::_

The Sisters of the Scale ranged around me, hovering in the air, snarling threats.

_::Surrender now, oh ye lone dragon barbarian, for ya have been smote by da Amazons of Terror, da Sisters of da Scales!:: _Purple Sonja called out, her thought speech showing she would take no sassing back.

I did not doubt the Sisters meant their words. Fourteen agile Terrors with well placed, stinging, sticky-fire and nastily sharp claws and beaks could do serious damage to a lone Sandspitter. Its breath-weapon was unique among dragons, but it could be dominated and muzzled by clever Amazon claws. Some of the sisters also were wielding their nasty vine bolas, so that gave them an extra advantage in bringing down the Sandspitter.

"I don't think it was the Sisters of the Scale who stopped the Sandspitter," Gatalas said to me, his gloved hands gripping the Draco's battered pole. Lux poked his little, wolflike face over Gatalas' shoulder as he perched his front paws on the Firemaker's back.

:_:Well, I doubt it was my scrawny, scarred carcass!::_ I sent back, staring fiercely at the Sandspitter and baring my teeth.

The Sandspitter watched me for a moment. It stood taller than me by one head, and I was surprised it was not as large as I would have expected. It was, however, much broader than I, especially in the shoulders and flanks.

Then the Sandspitter surprised my by purring. It dropped to its front knees in a dragon bow.

_::Permission to Mindlink...?:: _I sent guardedly.

It was accepted and the dragon purred more, :_:Oh, gladly shall I grant it, fairest desert nymph.::_

Its- _his_- thought speech was masculine and kind.

_Huh? _I felt my ears stand up in puzzlement.

_::I feel as though we are linked already, both in souls and in physical form, my lovely lady:: ,_ the Sandspitter stood up again on all fours, curling his long, graceful neck in respect to me _::For you have saved me from enchantment, but yet you have managed to enchant my heart, sylph of the sands. Long have I been lonely, wandering these green, sand less wastes in search of one of my kind, and it was a Sandspitter who saved me! The Sky Lady is indeed benevolent! And, you seem to have some strange things on your back? Did you catch and kill a Firemaker? You are indeed a fearsome warrior of the desert, my dragon lady!::_

The Sandspitter purred again, and I gave a rather bemused nicker, hoping it sounded enough like his purr.

_::Ah, so quiet? But, maybe you are a bit shy? You like to play the hard to get game? Never shall you fear, for I am one who knows the way to the shyest heart.::_

I could hear, very softly, Gatalas suppressing a snicker,_ ::I think it, indeed, was your scrawny, scarred carcass, Horsebutt!::_

_::Nah, more like what's covering my scrawny, scarred carcass. Hrani's teats, but this _is _embarrassing! I hope the other war mares never hear about this.::_

I heard some squeaks of wonder and surprise from several of the Sisters. I also caught a comment from the always observant Jessamine that she thought the Sandspitter's gaze, while no longer ensorcelled, still seemed to be weak. Sandspitters, after all, are not known for their brilliant eye sight. He'd _have_ to have blurred sight to see _me_ as one of his People!

It was Lux who, once again, proved his ability to state the obvious, :_:Oh, wow, Eyeful! He thinks you're a Sandspitter because of your armor! You have a boyfriend! That's so cool! Now I have to make fun of you! Eyeful and the Sandspitter, sittin' in a tree...::_

_::Shut up Lux!::_

Oh, rapturous joy.

* * *

**Some translations.**

_Nu, nu, vă barbari! Uită-te! - _No, no, you barbarians. Look here!

_Acesta este- _This is

_Hey, vâysâ!_ (Sarmatian)- Hey, stop that!

**A/N** - Horse nerd stuff, look out! Eyeful's height of 15 hands would be considered quite tall for a horse during the time periods in this story (Eyeful's native time line perriod of around 134 AD and their adapted time period of 11th century Europe and Central Asia.). A hand is a unit of measurement of horse height from the ground to the horse's shoulders. (One hand = 4 inches/10.16 cm.) Today modern day Akhal Teke Turkmenes remain about 15 hands, however, a lot of modern day riding horse breeds now stand 16 - 17 hands or higher, showing the view of the "average" horse is now larger.

Through most of history, horses were actually small, often pony sized. (A pony is 13 hands or less). Larger horses were bred when knights developed heavier armor and needed larger, heavy horses. The improvement of roads also meant more wagons and carriages, and larger horses were better for that sort of work, and horses seem to have been bred to be taller and taller.

There seems to be a modern view that taller horses are better, and that affects our view of history. The Vikings, for example, rode horses that are today's Icelandic and Fjord breeds. Both are considered ponies, quite the opposite of what you would think tall, burly Norsemen would ride, but yes, they rode ponies! That surprises a lot of people; I think fantasy artwork and movies depict Vikings riding huge Clydesdales or Friesians. However, these Icelandic and Fjord ponies are very powerful, strong necked and are better suited for adults and older children. They had no trouble carrying Norsemen into battle. As I often tell people who first ride Icelandic horses, they look small, when you get on them, you'll realize they are a lot of horse.

The dull-witted, horny Viking stallions mentioned in Chapter 2 and 3 are also small in size compared to modern horses and are based on the Norwegian Døle horse. These were descended from horses taken to Norway by Friesian traders just before the Viking Age. They would stand about 14 - 15 hands.

Thanks for your patience. I've been busy with real life, but I had some days off, so I wanted to post another chapter. I hope you liked it. The Roan-Mane-yun language was from Google Translate, and that's shaky, so if there are some Romanian speakers out there who would kindly help with the right translations, I would be ever so grateful! The same goes for Sarmatian (Farsi)

Also, does anyone see the significance of the Tihuţa Pass in classical literature?

Hopefully, the next chapter will not take so long to download. (Fingers crossed...)


	14. Logic of Light

**Chapter 14: Logic of Light**

"Get a shot off fast. This upsets him long enough to let you make your second shot perfect"._- _R. A Heinlein,_ The Notebooks of Lazarus Long_

**Disclaimer: **Believe it or not, even after a year of being on this fanfiction site, I still don't own Toothless and the dragons in this story. They belong to Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell (except for Lux and the Sandspitter- they allow me to think they belong to me. Stupid Firemaker)

* * *

We hit a dusty patch, sending amber-colored clouds wafting up around Gatalas and I as we trotted along the hoofprint trail left behind by my Sandspitter unit colleagues.

The real live example of a Sandspitter loped behind me, snorting in joy, _::Oh, you do give me a good chase, my shy beauty. I admit I have been a bit lazy these days. I relish the chance to run. It does make the blood flow nicely.::_

The aging and nearsighted Sandspitter cantered after me, wings held to funnel the air over his back and his tongue lolling out in joy. It seems some dragon People enjoy running on the ground, and I was lucky enough- in theory anyway- to have one fall in love with me.

I heard a louder snort of joy, _::You make me feel like a young drake again, dear one! Oh, the Sky Lady has blessed this old one's life beyond measure! ::_

_::You're such a tease, Eyeful! Leading on nice old drakes like that poor Sandspitter. You'll break his noble heart when he finds out you're just a lowly Turkmene.::_ Lux's thoughts came to my brain from way above me.

I gave a snort of my own (much more elegant than a dragon snort, I must add, _::Any more comments like that, and you can fly on your own, Lux dear. May it be a long and happy flight. At least more than three seconds.::_

I especially did not like the idea of combining "lowly" and "Turkmene" in one phrase. That's like mixing oil and water. Or sodium and water. Either way, it's slimy or explosive. Take your pick.

Gatalas laughed and jerked at the rope tied to my saddle, a small dagger appearing in his hand from his belt. He winked at me, indicating he was ready to cut if I gave the thought-send.

_::Oh, no, Eyeful! I was just merely being cute and funny! That's all!::_ Lux answered, squeaking in a manner that actually _was _way too cute and funny for my own taste_, ::Cute and funny! I like making everyone feel happy. With my well calculated gestures and thoughts::_

_::Awwww, Lux!::_ a bevy of Amazon Terror purrs rippled along the sky above me.

Both Gatalas and I rolled our respective eyes.

The beautifully iridescent dragon kitten was testing his wings again now that the wind had shifted direction to blow against us.

I moved at a faster pace, trying to eat the distance between our little unit and my actual Dragon Unit. This , plus the wind, made it ideal for Lux to try flying again. The conditions forced him to pump his wings more, building up muscles as he fought to balance both the wind gusts and my fast trot.

_::Anyway, Eyeful, I was just teasing you!::_ Lux called to me,::_ Please don't cut me loose! I want to practice flying and you are EVER so helpful and sweet. And beautiful, too. You're the most rare and most beautiful and prettiest and smartest Turkmene ever, and I'm so lucky to be your friend. :: _Lux called down to me, his wings thudding against the wind.

_::Haw!::_ I snorted in sarcasm while Gatalas snickered in delight at the thought of me being called pretty.

I bucked to remind him who was in charge. And also to remind him he wasn't exactly going to get tons of teenage Firemaker women drooling over him and painting fan pictures of him and his many battle scars and tattoos if they caught him bathing naked in a river.

Well, maybe they would drool over Gatalas if they were cannibal teenage Firemaker women, but that's a Firemaker of a whole different color.

_::So, Eyeful, be nice to me! ::_ Lux chirped adorably, _:: I promise you I won't say any more nasty things about you and the Sandspitter being in love.::_

I bared my teeth in patient suffering,_ ::What did you say, Lux-spark? I was too busy looking at that flock of flying pigs over yonder. The ones near the cow jumping over the moon, and across from the pot of gold at the base of the rainbow and that farmer yelling about land for sale in Utopia.::_

_::Huh?:: _I saw Lux shift above me, craning his long neck to get a better view. A few Amazons tried to see what he was gazing at,too, _:: Flying pigs? Wow! Where? And where's the cow jumping over the moon and the… oh.:: _

There was a nice moment of silence as I trotted along the lovely soft paths, my elegant lover loping behind me with a poem about my potential to lay gorgeous eggs.

A soft moon was rising up from the mountain pass horizon. It was, unsurprisingly, free of jumping cows.

_::You're messing with me, aren't you, Eyeful?:: _ Lux finally said sadly_, ::You don't believe me.::_

I translated this to Gatalas who chuckled and pat my neck. He craned his head up, warrior's braid dancing down his back, "It's okay, Lux. Eyeful and I will keep what you said in mind…"

My Rider stuck the knife behind one ear, "...and we'll keep this knife right here. Just in case you decide to change your mind about your promise and that rope connecting you to Eyeful goes bye-bye. Is that a deal, friend?"

_::Deal.::_ Came the grumpy dragon kitten response.

We moved onwards. Lux continued to practice flying. I heard him squeak sometimes in pain as he positioned his wing the wrong way, but he quickly moved to right the wing. My respect for him rose ever higher. He tried to use the mishap to learn, not to dwell on the pain. He was a warrior at heart.

When Lux would foul his wings, one of the Amazons would quietly reposition his wing. She would then move her own shoulders and wing arms to show him the right muscle movements. He would thank her and then imitate her movements.

She would remain by his side, warmly praising him if he got the moves down or calmly readjusting the wing, pointing out where he needed to change.

In spite of how they cooed over Lux's cuteness, they were firm teachers. I was happy to see that. Flying is a serious business to dragons. It is like the training we Turkmenes receive as war horses, pressed into us both by the Firemakers and the older warhorses. You need to know the right mindset and the right moves to survive on the battlefield, standing by your Rider when your instinct is to run.

And dragons need to know the right wing moves to fight their own battles with the wind and make that wind their ally.

It was nice to notice, as the hours went by, the Amazons needed to help Lux less and less. Finally, he soared without their help, balancing himself quite well on both sets of nacreous wings. His newly shortened tail floated behind him, complementing the wings by adjusting his long body in line with the winds that streamed over his hindquarters.

"You know something, Eyeful," Gatalas said, his head craned up to see Lux's progress though my backwards-gazing eyes, "I wonder if we are the first Sarmatians to ever see how dragons train their young to fly."

_::Could be, Rider, could be.::_ I thought back. Lux did seem to adjust very well to the Amazons' help.

I also remembered, too, he had taken a bit of a fall into the mud at the end of his last tethered flight. He had been choppy in motions that day. But this entire day his motions had been much smoother overall.

I passed on those observations to Gatalas who mused over them.

"Seems strange, Horsebutt." He rubbed a well- stubbled jaw, the long golden bristles rasping under his hand as the winter beard came in,"But it's almost as if by falling, Lux somehow got better at flying."

I snorted in contentment as some sweet swelling pollen blew under my nose from the pine trees,_ ::But that's normal, Apeface. Isn't it so that when a Sarmatian Firemaker falls off of one of my Turkmene People, he or she is told to get back on the Turkmene immediately? That you have to fall off a horse to be a better rider?::_

I felt my rider's bow- calloused hand caress my neck in friendship , "Of course, and we do get better as a result of falling off, _doostam_. We do. But not as fast as Lux has improved. His progress is much, much more than I would have expected after one day of test flying."

Gatalas looked up at the pearly dark grey dragon soaring above us with commendable grace and smiled, "But in Lux's case, he advanced so much. What if dragons have to fall to the ground once and it somehow triggers reactions and movements in them that they did not know before?"

As if Lux heard these words, I suddenly heard him call out in surprise.

He must have been allowing his tail segments to unlock and lengthen a little, perhaps to be more comfortable. His tail was neither long or short in length when crisp mountain wind billowed under the little dragon's belly and tail. I saw the long, fluked tail whip automatically in a graceful ripple. The flukes responded with extra ripple of their own.

And then Lux was suddenly drifting in front of me, the rope now at an angle instead of vertical. (_Angle? Vertical? _ Where did those words come from? I suddenly knew them. Was that the "data" the Forge Priests had mentioned my Turkmene kind were developed to have?)

Lux flew in front of me, now, and he pumped his wings in a movement that imitated what the Amazons had showed him. It must have been a basic wing move all dragons learn.

However, his body and tail moved in a different way from the Sisters. The tail movement caused his long, sinuous body to ripple as well, and that is what caused him to soar in front of me.

Lux chirruped at first in surprise and then amazement. And then in pleasure.

_::Ohhhh, beautiful!:: _Jessamine called softly, her thought voice echoing her roar of wonder.

The Sisters of the Scale must have agreed with her because, for a moment, the air was filled with fourteen cries that oddly harmonized.

_::You are the wind, Lux!::_ one of the Sisters known as Doris the Destroyer called in joy, _::Your body and tail are like the movements of the wind!::_

_::The little kitten moves like the sand dunes but in the sky!:: _My suitor the Sandspitter purred, _::Ahh, I am moved to sing a poem about it tonight!::_ He purred, _::And I shall dedicate it to you and Lux the Tribeless Kitten, my lovely Lady Sandspitter::_

I was too dignified to give that a response other than a quiet sigh. Luckily my Rider did not notice.

"_Oh, che khoob _, Lux-spark," Gatalas breathed from on my back, his voice oddly choked.

Lux rippled and rippled , balancing his wings and tails to ride the wind like a beautiful Sarmatian banner of a dragon kitten. His elegant moves were belied by delighted kittenish laughter.

_::This feels great! This is SO MUCH FUN! WHEEEEE!:: _A dragon yelp of joy, :_:How do your Firemakers say it, Eyeful? SHEEEEEE- RAHHH!::_

_::Yeehaw.::_ I corrected gently, just as Gatalas obliged our dragon kitten.

"Repeat after me, Lux!" Gatalas yelled back, "YEEEEEEHAWWWW!"

Lux answered, tilting back his head, closing his eyes and bellowing a roar.

It was a squeak to start with, but then it turned into a respectable alto roar that rippled along the edges of the forested mountains.

* * *

We found the boar, just about the time two of the Sisters spotted a small lake in a sheltered valley where we could overnight. We reeled Lux in from the rope and he again rode behind us, now perched on the Draco head behind my saddle cantle.

The boar was a nice surprise, startled by the Sandspitter as we moved down the trail to the lake. It exploded from a nest of loam under a tree well-decorated with tusk slashes.

"Marha must be looking out for us," Gatalas whispered, "We've got quite the army to feed, now."

The boar saw us and froze in place, small eyes taking in the rather uncommon view of a dragon carrying a rider with a bow. Behind us ranged a cluster of earth-colored little winged dragons and a medium-sized handsome brown dragon with squinty golden-green eyes.

The boar gave a warning chuff, gnashing his tusks.

That was just enough for my Rider and I to go into action.

Gatalas had the bow strung just as I burst into a fast trot, heading for the boar. The creature then snarled and leapt forward, towards the lake. I warned Gatalas with the double snort that meant _Sharp Turn _ and spun towards the boar, blocking its exit.

Gatalas kept his balance perfectly, and I heard the welcome song of the bow's string being stretched out.

_::Steady, Eyeful::_ Gatalas thought to me, :_:I want this to be quick and merciful. Can you direct its eye to the range of my arrow? Get it to attack you.::_

_::It's a boar,_ doostam_. No problem! They attack their own shadows!:: _

Lux chirruped a warning, sensing what we were doing. Sonja warbled to him reassuringly.

The boar roared and lunged at me. I leapt at it, offering it my shoulder, and it took the gift. Its tusk dug right into my shoulder. Luckily, the tusk met resistance to my dragon-scaled armor, and it halted the boar in place enough so that Gatalas could let his arrow fly.

The arrow went into the boar's eye and quickly ended its life. Soon Gatlalas was kneeling by the boar's body quietly singing the prayer-song all Sarmatians He sang to wish to thank the boar for its gift of life and to help its soul find its way to the Nextlife.

Then he sang a song of thank you to the gods. Now that we had a little flock of Amazon terrors and a large Sandspitter in tow, we needed the meat.

The first shadows of night were starting to compete with the setting sun and rising moon when we heard the thud of dragons' wings. We all glanced up in dreaded anticipation.

_::The nightly raids are starting again.::_ Jessamine snarled, _::And early, too, I might add!:: _

_::But they always start early around here, m'lady:: _The Sandspitter said, flipping his vestigial wings to make a point, :_:We're close to her. We're close to Them.:: _ He shuddered a bit, ::That _was what I was going through until the lovely Sandspitter Lady somehow cured me of my need to steal food and bring it to her and to Them.::_

A cloud of winged forms glided our way in the distance. I immediately picked up the command from my Rider's mind to get the wards set... and fast!

The Sisters of the Scale picked up from my own mind the shape and location of the wards. Soon a small cluster of Amazon Terrors was unlacing my packs and ward-stakes thudded to the ground.

_::Where do we'se set 'em up? Let us know!:: _ Purple Sonja barked.

"Far apart!" Gatalas called back, as I translated his words, "We need enough space for all of us to be able to get inside the wards' boundaries!"

:_:And I sure as the Lie Under the Earth hope that the extra distance does not make the wards weaker when we stretch their boundaries!::_ Gatalas thought-sent to me.

He used my eyes to locate a ward and picked it up. Honestly, to those who have not seen them in action, they just look like ordinary, wooden tent stakes with some strange ridges along the sides. These ridges actually are pegs that can be pulled out partially.

We didn't have much time before the ensorcelled herd of dragons came upon us. Luckily, Gatalas and I now had a group of intelligent friends willing to help us place the wards.

My Rider would call out a place to set a ward, I would send out the image of its position, and then one of the Amazons would grab a ward and fly it to its point.

Thudding wings, coming closer.

It was just up to Gatalas and I to set them. We moved quickly, both on foot. Gatalas ran by my left side, his right hand reached up to grip the hand hold and wrist straps on my harness' neck band. It had been designed for him to both use while riding me (helping him stay on my back and steer me) and while running by me (helping me to lead him and guide him, like a strange sort of seeing eye warhorse). His bow and arrows rustled in the gorytas that thumped at his left leg as he ran by my side.

Thudding wings, coming closer.

He put his trust in me and jogged by me as I led him.

Ever close to us, little Lux ran just in front of me in his odd gait, that whompfing run that made his body ripple. I now realized that whompf gait was just like the one he had done in the air earlier, but he didn't have the wind to glide on and smooth it out. On the ground it looked much more awkward, but it still was very effective in helping the dragon kitten move fast.

We reached the first ward placed by Blossom the Butcher and Jessamine the Juggernaut.

Thudding wings, coming closer.

_::One candlemark past noon!:_: I sent the direction points to Gatalas as I maneuvered myself into position at the ward.

He reached his right hand down to the position of the ward I mentioned. He deftly pulled out the pegs along its side in mere seconds, sliding them to their longest length.

I felt the deep thrum as the motion released the invisible energy barricades that protected all inside the boundary of the wards from any invaders.

Those invaders who tried would get a rather nasty souvenir of bruises when they impacted with the force field. It could even be fatal to them if they impacted with it too hard that skull bones were shattered.

Obviously these wards were another of those adorable little inventions from another time and place that we are not supposed to know about. But those little tent stakes have helped keep my Rider alive on our wanderings over the Steppes. They enable both of us to sleep in peace at night, so we awake at full strength each morning for another day of journeying.

Then I snorted to let my Rider know I was moving again. He lurched up, gripped the handlebar and wrist straps on my neck harness and let me move us to the next ward, this one set by Purple Sonja and Sadie the Salacious.

It all happened in mere seconds, thanks to the Amazons. We were soon tripping the last ward just as the leading edge of the dragon cloud reached edge of the valley.

_::Get into the center of the wards!:: _I relayed to the dragons, and heard the whooshing as Amazons, Lux and the Sandspitter moved behind us into the area protected by the wards.

They weren't quite across the ward boundary when the enemy was upon us.

Gatalas leaned against me and strung up his bow, lacing up for war. I dipped my chamfroned head and bared my teeth. We both faced the dragons now winging into the valley.

A Naptha Breather lunged its head towards one of the slower Sisters, bared teeth promising nothing nice.

Gatalas let an arrow fly. It sang nobly, and it hit against the soaring Naptha Breather. The arrow bounced off and fell back to earth in a useless drop. However, it did its purpose, distracting the Naptha Breather from our Amazon companion. The Naptha Breather shook its head and then soared on, unperturbed.

_::Thank you!:: _The little Amazon called to us as she slide into the protected zone, landing by her alert Sisters.

The Sandspitter misinterpreted Gatalas' intentions.

_::Your arrows won't protect us!:: _the Sandspitter sent in irritated fear, tossing his old but handsome head,_ :: You might get one of us, but the rest of us still fly. Shooting arrows won't take away our need to fly. And yet, earlier today, luscious lady, you did something to make me not want to steal and fly and feed Her. And Them. ::_

That sounded wrong on every possible level. I glared at him, trying to show my _I Am Not Impressed _look.

He roared then, and winked cutely at me, :_:Ah, I am just flirting with you, sweet one. I would never defile your pristine honor. My ensorcelled comrades need a stronger power than arrows to break free from her and Them. Firemaker, you need more of what the beautiful Lady Sandspitter does! That breaks us free, knocks us from the sky!::_

I was not sure how much of compliment that was. But I heard the hiss as Gatalas blew out through his teeth. Amazing, since I was also blowing out through my sizable front teeth. We were both mulling over the Sandspitters' words.

"Knocked out of the sky?" Gatalas muttered, "We've knocked no dragon out of the sky. We _can't_ knock a dragon out of the sky. Last time I checked, you can't fly, Horsebutt. I can't either, most likely, though I admit I haven't tried. And we sure don't have the arrow range for that. I wish we had more information. Where is the information when you need it?"

Well, well, well. He asked the question, asked for information. Weren't we Turkmenes supposed to be information banks? We just needed our Riders to ask the right question. And my Rider had asked the Right Question! Data matched with memories, and suddenly I had an array of memory-images come to my mind, and I fed them to my Rider.

An idea was now settling in quite strong as images flashed behind my mind of recent events. They spilled into my head mind fast, as if pulled up from ancient memories.

***/ IMAGE-** Setareh holding up the Draco head to protect the Walking Drum Caravan, brave Ravenwing rearing under her and Lux perched on his neck. Enemy dragons seemed to bounce against a barrier in front of the Draco and then fly away, puzzled.

***/IMAGE -** Two of the Sisters of the Sword waking up with dead birds in their talons. They remembered flying over our camp, and then suddenly were free of a force pull. The Draco had been set up in position there, along with the wards.

***/IMAGE-** The Sandspitter, lunging at us to kill and suddenly turning into an ally of ours, if a bit too smitten for my taste.

I mentally fed the info to Gatalas as he he lowered his composite bow to his side. He took a breath and glanced up at the dragons flying overhead in a mass of thundering wings.

"It's the Draco, I know that," Gatalas breathed softly, and I felt the warmth as my knowledge enlightened him.

And then he gasped, " _Motavajjeh isham!_ I didn't see it until your images! Eyeful, the Draco is an enhanced ward system. It's more mobile than the wards! And I bet it uses something from we Sarmatians- humans and horses- something in our minds or bodies to block the dragons!"

_::Could be, Apeface! A force field weapon to block dragons from attacking us. That's why the Priests wanted us to take the Draco head to poor Banadaspos! The Draco would block us from dragon attacks so we could concentrate on fighting, not on defending ourselves!::_

_"Bale_," Gatalas whispered, tilting his bow a bit upwards again. He gripped my harness handle harder, "But what if that Draco head not only defended us, but ,if used in the right way, freed dragons from that force enslaving them!"

That was the missing logic point! Of course! The Draco and wards had protected us from dragons, but it had freed the two ensorcelled Sisters and the Sandspitter.

_::You do have a brain on occasion, Apeface!:: _ I pawed the ground in joy, _::So, let's go knock some dragons from the sky!::_

"Nah!" Gatalas shook his head, "It's not about knocking them from the sky. It's about freeing them from the ground. We're a human and horse, not a dragon and rider. Everything _we_ do has to be on the ground. And in spite of what our scaled friends think, the ground ain't such a bad place to be. So, shall we do a bit of dancing, Horsebutt? And in the process ask some dragons to dance with us?"

I whinnied in joy, ::_Of course! What are you waiting for? Let's go invite some dragons to the party!::_

And we did! Gatalas leapt up on me and pulled the Draco and pole free. He tossed his bow to the ground with a wince of regret at treating an old friend so badly.

Then he dug heels gently into my side. Soon we were galloping out of the ward protection and towards the ensorcelled dragons.

Lux and the Sisters called after us to stay, but we ignored them. I just felt my heart swell, felt my Rider and I move in rhythm as we galloped towards the front of the valley where those mind numbed dragons poured in.

_::You're crazy!::_ the love-stricken Sandspitter now moved by my side, flicking his tongue, :_:But you're beautiful when you're crazy!::_

_::Heh!:_: I snorted back, _::Sandspitter, sir, if you want to help, then join us in the dance! We're gonna free some dragons!::_

:_:Of course, dear Sylph of the Sands! I shall help you, if it wins me your heart. And you asked me to dance with you! Oh, the Sky Lady smiles on me. I am honored, my love!::_

I gritted my teeth and pretended to be happy about that prospect

_::Me, too!::_ Lux now wound between my front legs as did his famous, catlike "follow you by running in front of you" maneuver. I knelt for a moment so he could leap on board and balance himself behind my saddle.

And then Amazons were flying out, ringing around us. It was a full wagon party!

So we danced! The first wave flew past us, but the second wave met us head on. Gatalas hefted up the beautiful golden Draco, shining on its pole. Under his saddle, I stood my ground, my legs shaking with the eager need to gallop towards my enemy and fight, and my head up.

I really, really wanted to run and face my enemies head on. But sometimes, it seems, there is a time when the best way to fight back is to stand still.

The fact I wore the armor of a Sandspitter threw off a lot of the invading dragons. From a distance I must have looked enough like a real dragon to confuse them. Dragons would oriented on both me and the Draco banner. Gatalas encouraged me to stay still with a gentle thought. Both his hands gripped the pole. I smelled the scent of fear and determination and, yes, the same need as I had to fight rather than stand still.

But I stood in place, though my legs burned for action.

And then there were suddenly more dragons around us on the ground. There was no dramatic thud from the sky, no thundering of wings or angry roar. But but there were suddenly about seven dragons who gracefully slid into a landing by me and then shook their wings and heads. All their eyes clearly broadcast confusion.

Two Naptha Persons. Three Lava Persons. One Self Burner. One Magnesium Person.

Then, suddenly, as their eyes cleared, they saw they had a human "dragon" rider in front of them. Along with a noble Sandspitter and little Lux.

I never saw such puzzled eyes in my life!

_::Mindlink if you please. And greetings!::_ I sent to them, ::_Welcome to the party. We're serving boar tonight. ::_

The Self Burner snarled something garbled and launched at me, teeth bared. I picked up from him anger and fear. He now smelled that I was not a dragon, so that meant I was The Enemy.

Gatalas' legs squeezed me with the command to move backwards. I did so, per my training, sliding backwards at a trot, my braided tail slashing the air.

"Obviously they don't teach manners in these here hinterlands," Gatalas muttered to me, "One is supposed to respectfully decline a dinner invitation, not attack the person doing the inviting."

I started moving forward to the right side, Gatalas still keeping the Draco head held high.

The Self Burner snarled again, but all I could pick up from his thoughts was something that reminded me of crackling heat lightning. The other dragon People still were stunned, staring at us insanely.

_HYAAARRGH! _The Self Burner roared again and launched at me.

_::Hear now, is that any way to treat a Lady?:: _The Sandspitter hissed.

Suddenly the Self Burner was attacking into a powerful tunnel of blasting sand. My hypothetical lover had crouched down and was directing a horizontal column of sand, using it like a Sarmatian would skillfully flay the skin from a slaughtered sheep or cow.

Sparkles filled the air for a moment, and the realization hit me that these were scales being ripped from the Self Burner's hide.

The crimson and cinnamon dragon let out a curdling hiss of fear and moved back. It truly seemed Sandspitters were rare in this area, and the Self Burner was just now learning that the smaller dragon could be deadly.

The only time I had been in a desert east of the steppes, our little unit of scouts had met a sandstorm. The Firemakers had seen the smudge of it far in the distance and used the remaining time to find shelter. We'd luckily found it amid some well-scoured rock columns. The Turkmenes had dropped onto the ground, rolling onto our sides while our Riders lay down over us and covered themselves and us with blankets.

When the winds stopped we rose up and shook off waves of sand. All of us, horse and rider, were coated so much powdery sand we all turned the same color. We emerged to continue our journey in a different world, one remolded by shifting sands. And much of the new decorations included the corpses of animals who had not escaped.

Only a few had strips of flesh left on them. And at least one skeleton was from a dragon. Sand, water and wind seem weak, but when used the right away, they can bring down the most powerful of beings.

The Self Burner/Monstrous Nightmare got a taste of this. He shuddered blood-laced shoulders and slid back by the other downed dragons, curling his lips to reveal an army of teeth. But he did nothing other than to snarl at us.

"We need to get back to the shelter!" Gatalas called from my back, I don't know how much longer we can hold them like this."

But even as he spoke the last of the dragons overhead flew. I watched them go, noticing that they now turned at angle that took them a bit out of range of our camp wards. Well, those wards were working nicely!

_::Mindlink if ye will, and listen up, youse overgrown worms! ::_ Purple Sonja snarled softly to our new dragons, her Sisters ranging by her side, _::Youse are under our protection now. But da Sisters of da Scale has some standards, see? So, youse People gots a choice. Youse can goes peacefully, like. Youse can join us, and welcome, ta youse, den. Or youse can fights us.::_

There were rattling sounds as slings and bolas began to move in the deft little front paws and wing claws of the Terrors.

It was almost hilarious to see a group of larger dragons bunch in together for protection against some tiny dragonesses wielding Firemaker weapons. But, then, again, they had been treated to some very strange things in their life in the last few minutes.

_::I rather advise against da fightin''. Just some friendly advice,_ draco a draco_:: _ Purple Sonja grinned sweetly.

We waited and watched the new group of dragon People. Finally, the Magnesium Person glanced at the others and nodded his head.

_::Boar meat sounds very nice. We thank you for your dinner invitation.:: _he said solemnly.

There was a slight sigh of relief from my Rider. We did not approach the new dragons, though. It was too much for them at the moment, and it would be better for them to approach us.

They watched us as I trotted back towards where my Rider had roughly tossed his bow. I could not understand their thoughts for the most part: there was still too much jumble and confusion in their minds.

Jessamine the Juggernaut now was crouched down by the bow where Gatalas had dropped it. She shook her head sadly at where it lay on the ground.

:_:Oh, no. Firemaker, your bow is broken.::_

"No!" Gatalas breathed.

I trotted over and he kicked his feet from the stirrups, dropping off my back by where the bow lay on the ground. It had completely warped out so it was curved into a crazy semicircle, horns touching each other.

Staring ahead in blind frustration, Gatalas grabbed at the air until he found the bow, picking it up. He cradled it in his lap.

I stood over him, my nostrils flaring and steaming as the cold air settled in. Dragons lined up behind me in a circle.

Gatalas felt the bow, his wide silvery eyes blank and yet fear-filled.

And then he dropped his hands and started laughing softly.

All the dragons looked at him as if he were mad. I, of course, knew the situation already.

"It's not broken, Jessamine!" Gatalas chuckled softly, "It's just being what it is: a double recursive composite bow!"

He looked up at the dragons, his gaze focused poorly on them, "That's how we design 'em. When they are not in use, they fold into a semi circle. It protects them. That's how we store them in our gorytas cases. That shape keeps them supple and safe until we need them!"

Gatalas winked at me (and actually wound up winking at one of the newly freed Lava Persons by accident. That dragon snorted in offended surprise)

My Rider hummed softly and adjusted the string on the top end of bow. Then he calmly pulled the horns of the composite bow backwards. The horn and sinew and wood thrummed softly as the semi circle bent backwards, and then suddenly, with a happy buzzing sound, the bow clicked back into its normal bow shape.

Gatalas hooked the bow string onto the bottom of the bow and showed it to the dragons.

It was a beautiful bow: well-oiled, lovingly maintained, streamlined in shape for use on horseback. Of course, it also was simple in form. It was humbly leather and horn and a quiet brown in color. There was nothing showy about it except for the traditional orange and yellow paint on the horns to help guide archers to string the bow in the dark. It's a weapon of stealth. We Sarmatians make them to be quiet and deadly. Our enemies only hear them when they hear the thrum of the string being pulled as our Riders nock the arrow.

It's our version of the puff of air you hear just before a dragon lets loose his or her flame.

There were tamgas painted on the bow, small symbols to protect it, but they disappeared into the brown of the leather and grey of the horn,

_::Uh... does your bow have a name?::_ one of the Lava Persons asked finally, allowing her curiosity to come out as she watched My Rider unstring the bow again, :_:I thought all Firemakers give their weapons name. I don't understand their speech, of course, but they seem to talk to their weapons, and I think I hear repeated words like a name.::_

The bow fell back into its original half moon shape.

Gatalas grinned at the Lava Person who let out a snort of surprise at such a warm Firemaker reaction towards a dragon.

"Nah," Gatalas said back softly as he wrapped the cord around the bow and stowed it in the gorytas tied around his belt.

I translated that one word.

Gatalas pat my neck, "We never name our weapons. Good thing that we don't. Given our culture, we'd have some pretty ugly names like 'Stink Egg' or 'Maggot Twister' or the like."

He smiled at the dragons around us, his gaze affectionate but unfocused, "Besides, we learn the bow from when we are old enough to sit on a horse. Our bows are like an extension of our own arms. You don't name your arm, so why would you name your bow?"

The Lava Person rumbled quietly, _::I think I like that Firemaker's thinking. I don't name my flame from my mouth, either. It's still a part of me, though.::_

* * *

My harness let out a thud as Gatalas swept if off my back. No sooner had he done that, then several of the Amazons swooped on it.

They bickered with each and shot out a few fireblasts while debating the best way to roll it up. Gatalas smiled in amused affection as he brushed the sweat from my hide.

The Amazons had started a fire, too. It received some good competition from the full moon spilling its light from the sky. I heard a few Sisters mention that this was the sign the Night Lady had opened her eyes wide to help the dragon People with the best hunting of each month.

Soon we had the smells of wild boar flesh roasting on the fire, complemented by some dug up root vegetables wrapped in clay and stuffed in the fire to roast.

Several rather dazed Lava Persons, Self Burners, Naptha Breathers, a Magnesium Breather and the rest milled around the fire, nostrils flaring in surprise.

They kept getting reassured by the Sisters of the Scale and Lux that all was well. They were free to go or they could stay and dine with us.

They all stayed, though they were still bewildered. The biggest issue seemed to be why the Sisters and Lux and my Sandspitter chose to stay by a fire and eat cooked meat with an odd Dragonrider Firemaker who obviously rode a Dragon but the Dragon-was-Not-a-Dragon.

My Sandspitter entered the Ward boundaries and the campfire. He had been swallowing some sand he found along the lake bank to replace what he had blasted at the Self Burner. He stored it in his crop to use as part of his unique firepower. Once he saw me, he became a very disappointed Sandspitter.

His eyes fell on me as I relaxed under my Rider's wonderful brushing strokes.

_::Oh::_ was all I heard for a moment.

And then, ::_Oh. I knew it was too good to be true. A fairy creature would be the one to steal my heart. 'Tis a full moon after all. I should have known you were a werehorse::_

_::A where what?:: _ Lux chirped from where he was helping Sonja drag over some more wood for the fire.

:_:Werehorse, young dragon,::_ the Sandspitter sighed sadly, :_:My dragon love must have been bitten by a werehorse. So when the full moon comes out, my poor beloved is cursed to take on the form of an evil grass eating horse, tormented to savagely torture and eat innocent grass instead of eating fish as the Sky Lady intended for dragons.::_

It is very possible that every non-Sandspitter dragon jaw dropped at that statement.

_::Ahh, horses don't bite like that,::_ Lux offered helpfully, _::They kick and such other gross stuff, but I don't think they bite dragons.::_

_::Of course not, beautiful sky-rippling kitten,::_ the elderly Sandspitter returned, nodding in assurance, :_:But werehorses are rabid beasties. Very illogical and very dangerous. Mark my thoughts, young 'un.::_

The Sandspitter approached me and came up to me. I had to tense, my very muscles screaming not to run in panic. Even if the Sandspitter is my unit's totem-dragon, I still am not fond of having the skin flayed from my bones by a dragon-created sandstorm.

I stared up into a strangely handsome, grandfatherly draconic face with its unfocused eyes, a kind old drake. The thought sense emanating from him were nothing but good will.

:_:You have been cursed, desert heart. And your soul and heart have been broken:: _The dragon thought to me in a gentle tone, _::You don't need to face this evil alone, my beauty. For you are beautiful, even if you wear a horse's hideous form right now.::_

I growled inside and heard Gatalas chuckle.

I stomped on Gatalas' foot. Just a friendly reminder between friends, you know. Good for the Firemaker to know from time to time who is the superior species.

::I_ will save you, dragoness. Together we will defeat your cu_rse s_o you can be a Sandspitter in true.::_ the Sandspitter purred,_ ::And I shall let no superstitious Firemaker shoot you with an arrow covered in eel skin either, my sweet.::_

_::But you saved me once already, today,:: _I thought back to him, :_:If it weren't for you, I am not sure my Rider and I would have escaped from the Self Burner's attack. I thank you for that, and that is all the repayment I need.::_

Another purr of joy as he touched his muzzle to mine. I sighed and touched mine back.

_::Thank you, sweet Sandspitter lady. But ending your curse will be merely for pleasure. I wish you to be whole and lovely and uncursed by evil powers. I swear on my name, Sand Heatscent, that I _will_ cure your curse, sylph of the sands::_

_::You are too kind,:: I_ thought back, but I am sure he did not take it the sarcastic way I meant it.

I don't even think he heard my thoughts that well since he leaned back, flaring his nostrils in happy absentmindedness.

His name did stick in my head. As in most draconic names, it is a mix of many sensations. In this case, I picked up the acrid, somewhat salty scent the dry desert sands give off at the hottest point of the day. It is that time when the sun starts to lower and when the heat from the ground reflects back into sky. It is not a scent I have smelled often, but I did well remember it from that desert trek- the one involving the sandstorm.

Gatalas and I broke contact and Sand Heatscent had to be content just lying near me, protecting me from whatever demons haunted his imagination.

The rich scent of cooking meat filled the little lake shore, and dinner was soon ready.

I munched on my grain feed. Dragons and Firemaker ate the roast boar and the roast roots, all in gratitude, including the new dragons who we had freed from the ensorcellment. They had never tried roast meat before and seemed from their rippling purrs to be pleased by it. Sand Heatscent waxed poetic on it, growling out a great ode to the sweet warrior boar who gave his life to nourish us all.

The Amazons loved it, roaring and chirruping in joy. Lux joined in, throwing in his still odd mixture of squeaking-chirping-growling. Eventually the new dragons began to chuff as well, each complementing Sand Heatscent for his thrummed artistic skills. The Magnesium Breather praised him, which is high praise indeed. Apparently they are the poets and tale tellers of all the dragon People.

It was not easy for me to understand a lot of their thoughts since those thoughts were flying through the air so fast. Plus, I had never been exposed to so many dragon mind-sends at once. It took a lot of my concentration to pick thought from thought. But I got enough of a gist of it to muddle my way through.

I translated for Gatalas and the two of us sat together, him leaning against my side as I sat on the ground, my legs tucked under me.

There were no words for this. It was a strange moment of camaraderie. Here we were, two mammals from a barbarian people, and we were watching a group of mysterious dragons entertaining themselves, singing and laughing in their own style.

_::It's an honor to witness this, Horsebutt::_ Gatalas thought to me.

:_:Agreed, brother Ape Face.::_

_::But also a lonely honor,:_: he sighed, pulling his shaggy, waist-length braid from where it lay on his collarbone. He flipped it over his shoulder to rest down his spine again.

I sighed softly. It was true. We had already seen more of dragon culture than most Sarmatians. There was still that sense, though, we sat on the edge of a circle around a fire. And our circle was one that was outside the circle where the dragons celebrated. We were welcome to look in, but we could never fully participate.

In the end, though, where did we really belong? Gatalas had chosen the wandering warrior's life long ago, to give up the constant ties with our people so we could travel the steppes. However, it was not as though he had abandoned our caravan. He was still an Iazyges tribesman and, until recently, had served well with the Sand Spitters Unit. He just preferred to serve the caravan by being a steppe guide and protector.

Neither was our wandering purposeless; we followed migration trails, moving west to east and back again in the manner of nomadic people. The steppes were too dangerous to cross without knowing the right paths to water and shelter. And we guided and protected those along the way with the combination of a human's hide and horn bow and a telepathic horse's swift hooves and eyes.

I would say our vagabond lifestyle was a hoot, overall. We met dragons, we met Firemakers. We learned new languages from the caravans, tried new foods, traded for goods, exchanged battle tactics.

But at the end of each day, it always boiled down that at each night's campfire, my Firemaker and I stared from an outer circle into an inner circle of other humans. Sometimes they were a Firemaker caravan. Sometimes they were pilgrims.

And Sometimes they were dragons and then they perched on the rocks above us.

But, almost always, we were always at the outside looking in.

One always felt those moments of sadness and loneliness. There was sometimes the thought that maybe my Rider could have stayed with the caravan or served full-time in the cavalry and lived in a wagon instead of sleeping in a tent under the stars.

I know my Rider did sometimes have those doubts for a moment.

Just a moment.

Then there would be that realization that we needed to keep moving. It was a part of us. Horses by our nature are nomads. And Sarmatians are, too. Hell for a Sarmatian is a prison or a house. Just as hell for a horse is to be locked in a stable with no windows.

Gatalas and I just happen to be hyper-nomadic. (Ooh, I think I made up a new word!)

However, this was the first time we'd ever really experienced the shut out feeling from what was obviously a dragon culture. We truly were the minority here.

Gatalas sighed softly, his silvery eyes showing a shadow of isolation for a moment.

I nudged his head, pulling off his peaked Sarmatian hat. He reached up a hand and slapped my neck gently.

We grinned at each other in our own way.

Nah, we really weren't that lonely after all. We had each other and our bond and this strange wide world before us.

* * *

The boar was a gift to us. I knew that, and I kept finding myself thanking him. I seem to be picking up bad Firemaker habits, obviously

Still, it made a nice sense. I've come close to dying so many times, even though I'm a kitten. I _know_ how hard it is to face death. The meat of the boar gave me life. His strength became my strength.

I had never seen any of the Sisters thank the meat they ate. And the River Rat monsters certainly ever had. This seemed something unique to my Monster-Firemakers, a strange and welcome form of respect they had for the creatures they shared our world with.

My stomach was so happy these days to be full. My legs felt stronger. My hide gleamed. And when my dull scales had fallen off to show my new colors, I truly felt as though I had been born again.

These thoughts were on my mind as I gnawed the last bit of pork from the bone and then crunched the bone, sucking out the life-giving marrow. I watched as the Sisters of the Scale debated with the new People who had been freed by the Draco pole.

_::Are you insane?:: _ The Magnesium Person was asking Sonja, :_:It is a Firemaker and a fake Person over there! Firemakers are evil. Everyone knows that. Why do you allow yourself to be in manipulated by them?::_

The others by him growled in affirmation. The Self Burner shot Sand Heatscent a particularly poisonous look, one that plainly marked the elderly Sandspitter as a traitor.

Sonja trilled a cautious note and started sharpening the bladed extensions on her claw in a casual way, _::Dat Firemaker and his fake Person was da ones ta kill da boar youse just ate.::_

I glanced at the edge of the fire where Gatalas and Eyeful rested, both of them staring into space with strangely wistful expressions on their faces. They seemed rather lonely to me.

I had felt that way when I had been the only Person among Firemakers. Now the winds had shifted, and my friends were the mysterious, evil creatures among a community of dragon People.

_::Do I care?:_: said the Magnesium Person, _::I never turn down free food when I can find it. I will leave tonight. You should, too. Instead, you seem to want to stay and be ensorcelled by this evil Firemaker! I've always thought Sticky Fire People were lacking common sense. This just proves it::_

_::'Scuze me?:: S_onja asked while Blossom the Butcher deliberately started fussing with her bola, _::Correct me if I'm wrong, here, but wasn't it ya what was just ensorcelled, ya overstuffed bluebird, and it was we'se and da Firemaker who freed ya?::_

_::That's different!:: _the Magnesium Person snorted, a bit of sparkle dancing around his muzzle.

_::A course it's different!:: _ Purple Sonja said,_ ::In our case, we follow the Firemaker because we choose to. He and his bony nag have done nothing but help us. In _yer _case, ya was completely enslaved and out of control.::_

The little dragoness slid her daggered foot along the ground, striking up some sparks on the rocks, _ :: Dat blind spot under yer nose horn must be awfully big if ya can't see dat. Unless, ya choose not to see ya was overtaken by something bigger than your ego. If dat is possible::_

There were some thought-murmurs. Some of the new People did seem a bit sheepish, now. One of the Lava People had the grace to look away, nostrils flaring. From the bones scattered around the new People, there was no denying the largest share of Gatalas' boar had gone to feed them.

_::An' what 'free food'? Seems ta me, when I've seen youse ensorcelled People, youse are carryin' food youse stole from Firemakers. Da's against da Commandments.:: _Purple Sonja added.

I pricked up my good ear. I had not heard of these _commandments_ before.

_::It's the People's Code of Conduct, Lux::_ Jessamine thought softly to me, _::First Commandment is to never steal food from a Firemaker. It seems like easy pickings, but it's too dangerous in the long run. The only ones who attempt stealing from Firemakers are usually poor starving souls, daredevils or lazy younglings.:_:

I nodded in thanks and sucked down the last of the marrow with my long tongue. I started washing my face with a front paw, my eyes trained on the new People.

I had only seen one Magnesium Person before, back at the Walking Drum caravan when I'd been swooped up by a Naptha Person. I was starting to get the idea from this blue Person's actions that Magnesium People were kind of edgy and high strung.

He tossed his head indignantly, _::Silence, Sticky Fire scum! You will NOT bring that up or I will bring THIS up!::_

We started to hear the hissing of powdered magnesium being lit on fire, and a rumble in the Magnesium one's throat. I flinched and heard Eyeful stomp her hooves in warning.

_::FIRE-PEACE! NOW!::_ an angry thought voice cut through the noise.

Sand Heatscent arched his back and growled, a deep and powerful noise that made my bones shake, _::We have shared food and you have been invited as guests. This is the vow of Fire-Peace. Insult it and you insult the Blessed Three. You will stand down, sir, and keep your accusations - and your fire- to yourself.::_

Some small sparkle as magnesium exploded out of the pale blue, birdlike Person, but it was more of a release of flame than an attack. The Person clamped his enormous jaws shut and glared at the Sandspitter. He then looked back at the other People. The smallish Naptha Person shook her head at the Magnesium Person, echoed by the other new People.

I grinned, Eyeful's new boyfriend really was turning out to be kind of cool.

The Magnesium Person lowered his beautiful, magnificent head, :_:Fire Peace::_ he thought-sent in grouchy agreement.

_::Good lad::_ Sand Heatscent purred and returned back to Eyeful's side. The Turkmene did not roll her eyes as I would expected but nodded in what seemed to be gratitude.

Some tension seemed to waft away, drifting with the campfire smoke up to the sky and its many twinkling lights. The Eye of the Night Lady shined down on us, as if She were encouraging us. The strange and lovely swishing and booming sounds that I now knew were night insects and frogs echoed in the reeds around the lake. A rich, irony scent filled the air, released up from the lake and bog.

_::Where do you take the food?:: _ Jessamine finally asked the new People, arranging herself in a comfortable dragon loaf near me. She kept her thought voice calm and analytical, and that suited her well. I had started to realize she was probably the most intelligent of the Sisters.

There was some rustling as the new People relaxed a bit, all except for the Self Burner and the surly Magnesium Person.

_::Errrrm. We don't... I... uh...:: _the Lava Person who had glanced away in shame earlier now answered. She shook her head so hard that I heard her scales rustle, _::I don't remember anything, myself. I just have this feeling like night spread into my mind and clogged things up. One day I was flying back to my mate with some river cress for my his sour stomach. And then I felt a darkness behind my eyes. A quick pain. And nothing after that.::_

She gazed at Jessamine the Juggernaut with her large amber eyes, _::And I felt nothing else in my memory stone until now::_

_::Aye, same here.::_ The female Naptha Person said, stretching her long crimson neck out, _::I felt a sense of daynightdaynightdaynight and some moments here and there where I was eating fish I scavenged. But otherwise just a darkness. And then I felt light burn across my eyes, I saw that strange golden Person's head on the pole and then I was myself again.::_

_::Agreed::_ several of the new People said.

_::Sounds like my experience,:: _ Sand Heatscent rumbled softly, _::I, too, felt that darkness until I saw the Person on the pole held by the Firemaker sitting on my True Love's back.::_

:_:Uh, yeh, right. Forgot that Eyeful is your one true love.::_ Purple Sonja said in that over-polite way you say something to someone you are not sure came out of the egg the right way.

Sand Heatscent ignored her and continued, :_:But, my new brothers and sisters, didn't you feel a kind of need or presence in your mind? A feeling of an entity pushing you?::_

:_:What's an entity?::_ One of the Lava People asked curiously, _::Does it taste good? And where can I get one if it does?::_

_::Lava Persons!:: _muttered Jessamine softly to me, :_:Loyal but stupid::_

Sand Heatscent chuckled softly, :_:Lava Person, an entity is an unknown living thing. I swear upon the Sky Lady's golden claws that I could feel there was a 'She' and a 'They' urging me on. I needed to serve Her. And Them.::_

_::Ya separate them?:: _ Purple Sonja asked curiously, _::Why not just 'Them?::_

Sand Heatscent hardened his eyes as a memory chased across his mind, _::Because She and They are not the same entity.::_

_::I felt this too, :: _the _t_wo Lava People rumbled at the same time.

_::Aye,:: _the Self Burner said in surprisingly gentle, soft thought voice in a strange lilting accent, _::She and T'ey. T'ey and She. I rrrrrremember this, indeed. T'ey scarrrre me. An' so does She.:: _

He trained his eyes on Sand Heatscent's, _::I don't like t'at you blew your fish-saliva stenched sand on me, Sandspitterrrrr, but I do agrrree wit' your feelings. I am glad to have my mind back again.:: _

Sand Heatscent split his long muzzle in a dragon grin, _::Glad to hear of it. I, for one, intend to keep it that way. And, from what I have seen of the Firemaker and my true love, they are trying to find out just how to stop Her and Them. That is why I will follow them.::_

He looked down at his claws, a strange pink glow running up his warm brown face scales_::And, of course, for my True Love, which is always a noble ambition.::_

_::And we are following them because the Sisters of the Scales are Amazon warriors seeking adventure and glory, and if needs be to be willing to die makin' our enemies wail in defeat:: _Blossom the Butcher said proudly, _ ::We long to let our bolas drink the blood of our enemies who dare enslave our People's minds!::_

_::Uh, Blossom?:: _ Jessamine pointed out gently, _::Bolas don't drink blood. I think you're confusing them with Firemaker swords.::_

_::Pah! I am an Amazon Terror- all heed my iron will, including my bolas! If I say my bolas drink blood, then they bloody well WILL drink blood! And beg for more.::_

Jessamine shrugged in an ironic way and sighed.

_::Blossom da Butcher's tellin' da truth,::_ Purple Sonja elaborated, :_:We fight for whad is right. Well, to be honest, mainly for treasure and- well, uh- err. Forget I said dat. We MAINLY fight for right. And DIS is da right thing ta do! Besides,:: _she lowered her head, :_:Dese Firemakers have been nuttin' but good ta us. Dey don't act like most Firemakers. One of deir warrior horses even gave his life for me, even if I was less dan polite to dem.::_

The other Sisters crooned a note that hung in the air, similar to their mourning song for Ravenwing.

_::We's follow glory, and dis Firemaker will show us glory- and help us free our People.:: _Sonja said solemnly.

_::And make us rich,::_ Sadie said, but Jessamine quickly covered the little Terror's face with her tail with an annoyed expression in her eyes.

The new People seemed now genuinely intrigued, all sense of awkwardness gone. I felt a shiver run up my spine as I found every Person now looking at me.

_::And you, quiet kitten. :: _The Magnesium Person gave a strange chuckling sound that seemed oddly birdlike,_ ::Why do you travel with this Firemaker?::_

I swallowed hard glaring into those orange eyes. They seemed to come from an ancient, ancient source, one that seemed very un-dragonlike. I got the sense of ancient creatures, giant beasts who roamed a steaming hot forest. They had powerful heads and jaws and walked upright on large hind legs, but their front legs were ridiculously tiny.

The answer jumped into my mind before I could even think about it, :_:Because they are my tribe.::_

:_:Have you looked in the water lately, kitten? You're a Person, not a Firemaker!:: _the Magnesium Person snarled, but it was not cruel, just ironic.

I raised my winged shoulders and snarled right back, :_:I know I am a Person, but I only recently found that out. Before that I had no idea what I was. I was stolen as a hatchling by Firemaker River Rat-Monsters and they kept me in a dark painful place for years. They- they ... treated me terribly.::_

The others picked up the image from my mind and I heard a chorus of dragons rumbling fiercely, _::Vikings! Demons! Is there no end to their scorching evil?::_

The Naptha Person moved to me and narrowed her eyes, curling her lips at the many scars that still marked my newly molted hide. :_:Those are dire wounds, kitten. You'll bear those scars the rest of your life, I think. And it looks like you've lost one of your ears as well. And that front leg of yours looks weak. There's no reason for you to love Firemakers.::_

I gazed back at the dragoness, still with a quiet snarl in my throat. Not rude... just a quiet warning, _::My ear is shredded, but my hearing is still good. Any my leg is healing. And there is no reason for me to love River Rat Monsters, true.:: _

I glanced at where Eyeful and Gatalas watched us. The Firemaker had his hand on her shoulder, and she gripped his stupid looking peaked felt and fur hat in her large teeth.

_::But I don't hate all Firemakers, Naptha Person. I know some of them can be kind. If it were not for that Firemaker and Ey- I mean his warhorse, I would have died of sickness and hunger. They didn't have to, but they fed me and gave me my life back. While I was a captive, I screamed for help, but no one came. No one who looked like me came to help me. But the Firemaker and his warhorse did come to help.::_

For a moment there was silence, and I let it hang in the air. My wounds spoke for me. I was also glad I had remembered not to violate Sarmatian custom and give away Eyeful's name without her permission.

:_:They gave me a place to heal. They didn't attack me when I was attacked them from fear. Instead they understood it and accepted my fear, :: I_ nodded my head solemnly._ :: And now they are helping me to find out who my People are. There _are_ good Firemakers out there. I may be nothing more than a a squashed fly to this "Her" and this "Them" but I will go with my Firemakers to help how I can.::_

To my surprise, I felt a warmth spread through. I had felt it growing in my feelings over the last few days. It felt good, like the warmth of shelter from bitter cold, or the warmth of Sarmatian journey broth in my hungry stomach. I had not been sure, but now I knew it, and I was filled with joy by it.

Whether or not I ever found my birth People, I knew that Gatalas, Eyeful, Setareh, Kourosh and Farna were my tribe. And I felt deep love for Ravenwing who had helped me understand more about myself before he died. I belonged to all of them, just as they belonged to me.

And so I let myself shine.

Apparently more than I realized.

Soft purring growls rumbled around the encampment.

_::Amazing. Dragon child! You are a wonder!::_ The Magnesium Person's growl turned into a purr of amazement

_:Wha-ha-ha?:: _I roared, which, of course, turned into its usual annoying sqeak-purr.

:_:You're sparkling, Lux,::_ Jessamine crooned, rich laughter in her thought voice.

And Gatalas drew in a surprised breath, letting it out with a wordless _hum_ of joy.

_::Dragons don't sparkle,:: _ I reminded them, _::Uh- hey! Hey!::_

The ground rose up from me and hot teeth clamped my shoulders. I found myself being carried over to the clear mountain lake.

And then my reflection rose before me in the lake water.

Eyeful carried me in her teeth. I dangled below her mouth, gently, and now I saw that something was happening I could never have guessed.

Those horizontal stripes that run down my body from head to tail were now flashing with light, rippling lights! The lights pulsed in a pattern starting at the base of my neck and running along the stripes to the end of my tail. It seemed the lights were coming from the segmented knobs set periodically along my stripes.

And the colors- o_h my_! They were like the pearly color of my coat's undersheen, but changing shades of rose, blue-green and gold.

As I watched, they flickered and faded away. I returned to my pearly dark grey color again as I dangled in Eyeful's mouth.

The rumbling and hissing from the dragons did not fade away.

_::Try it again, kitten.:: _Sand Heatscent purred softly, _ ::I want to see if you can do it again::_

Bemused, I glanced at him and then at Gatalas who was kneeling now by Eyeful and me at the lake shore, touching her leg to borrow her eyes.

The scary looking Firemaker smiled at me, so I imitated his grin and then focused.

And I saw the colors along my coat flash again in the water at my feet.

Eyeful gently set me down on the ground and I continued to watch my flashing reflection.

_::How's about dat? Never seen a Person do dat before!:: _Purple Sonja crooned, her eyes wide in wonder.

They couldn't be any wider than mine.

_::That must be your firepower, Lux,:: _Jessamine purred, her wings trembling in excitement at this new vision, _::You somehow produce colored, blinking lights instead of fire.::_

At those words, I felt my heart drop somewhere to my feet. It probably fell to that place under the earth where the Sarmatians say the Great Lie lives.

_::Tha- that's... pathetic!::_ I roared in disgust. _::It's a sissy power! It's for useless People who just want to be pretty! It's for GIRL kittens!::_

_**Whop! **_ Jessamine cooly belted me across the shoulder with a wing blow. Since bolas were attached, I wound up being flipped over and landing on my back, _::Watch it, Amazon!:: _

_::__**What**__ did you say about girl dragons and stupid powers?:: _Jessamine snarled.

I glared at her as I shook the bolas from my legs. Jessamine had not been aiming to knock me off my feet, just to frighten me. I had contributed to my own clumsiness.

Eyeful snickered and I hissed at her as I clambered to my feet, _::Poofcrud! C'mon! Can't anyone feel a little sympathy for me? I am a mysterious Person and I had hoped I would have an awesome firepower! But I turned out to be a mysterious Person with a pretty- but USELESS- power.::_

Several of the sisters began to hum a crooning tune that sounded cute and annoying. And I hate cute. (It must be the growing Sarmatian in me).

:_:That's the famous Sticky Fire People's chant about how their hearts bleed for your suffering.:_: Jessamine said helpfully.

The new People were now at the lake's edge, too, keeping their distance from Gatalas and Eyeful.

I now remembered that there had been two Naptha People who were saved by the Draco. So far only the female had made mental contact. The other one now watched us, twitching his longish ears.

_::It's something to be proud of, kitten,:: _his thought-speech full of gravel and hard-earned wisdom, ::_There are many ways to use our breath weapons, not just fire. You've seen how the Sandspitter can use his. And, of course, the Concussion People rely on using concussive blasts under the water as their breath weapon::_ He snorted softly, _::And I've heard memory songs about a whole class of People who use light as weapons, though I think they come from a faraway land. Your unknown tribe probably is one of them.::_

::_But light is useless! All it does is just... well, it just lights and looks pretty. That's all.:: _ I snorted disdainfully.

_::Those memory songs have told that some of these light class People were used as communicators, kind of like the Lightning People, but for close range,:: _The dry-toned Naptha Person croaked, _::They could flash patterns to advise and warn other People of danger or important news. Sometimes their ability to communicate a message fast and far saved the battles. ::_

_::But couldn't they just use mind speech?:: _Jessamine asked.

The Naptha Person revealed beautiful ivory teeth in a gentle smile, :_:In theory, yes, little Amazon. But tales of battles also show these are times of such speed and strong emotions and cluttered thoughts that your Mindspeech would come out very jumbled. Plus, if you can send out a thought command, your enemies might pick up on it too. But they might not know the code used for flickering lights.::_

I considered that, somewhat doubtfully while the frogs and insects chirped around us. I was, to be honest, terrified that I might wind up eventually shooting rainbows from my mouth. I don't think I could live that one down.

_::I just I wish I knew how those Light Class People look in form. All we have are hero songs of their deeds, not their shapes.:: _The Naptha Person concluded, _::But I would suggest you consider developing that light flashing skill. If you are going to stick with your foolish Firemaker and his foolish dragon-not-dragon - and you can stop glaring at me, orange horse- then perhaps you should work out a code with them you can use for night scouting or transmitting messages.::_

Eyeful stopped glaring at the Naptha Person and snorted just as I nodded my head. It seemed a reasonable idea. If I was going to be stuck with a girly dragon power, then I might as well try to make it useful.

_::What is your name, little one?::_ The Naptha Person said softly, _::Mine is Darkfire::_

_::I am Lux,::_ I said just as softly, ::_I don't have a Person name because I never knew my name. I just use what a Firemaker name. But I did choose it for myself. It is Broomhead talk. And it means...::_

Here my thought voice caught on itself.

_::...it means...uh,... 'Light?'::_

Yes. Light.

* * *

I tried to sleep, but I was so excited I could not at first. Here we were discovering new People, and they seemed to be considering that following Gatalas, Eyeful and we People on our quest to find out about their enemy could be worthwhile. Eventually I did fall into a restless sleep.

The next morning we all woke to discover all the new People were here except for one, the Magnesium Person.

:_:That's no surprise,::_ Blossom the Butcher snarled, _::He was the most skeptical of the lot, ungrateful son of a scabies-ridden gecko.::_

_::Yeh, but he sure stayed aroun' ta eat da food da Firemakers caught.:: _ Purple Sonja remarked, looking at the now vanished boar, nothing more than bristly skin left to dissolve into the Earth.

_::Well, we set him free,::_ Eyeful reminded Sonja while her Rider put on her strange leather harness, assisted by some of the Sisters, _::It was up to him to choose whether or not to come along with us.::_

_::I'm surprised yer so casual about dis, Horsebutt,:: _Purple Sonja retorted, :_:I'da found the ungrateful wretch and given him some what-for wid my Flames of Amazon Doom._

_::Being a warrior is often about picking your battles, and this one is not worth it_,:: Eyeful responded as she nipped at a persistent morning deerfly.

The other People, the new ones, watched us get ready to part. They had been lounging on their sides, but they now lumbered to their feet.

_::We're coming along,:: _ the Naptha Person, Darkfire, thought-sent, :_:We decided it last night after dear old Parrotface left.::_

_::Aye, a piece of our lives was lost when She... and T'ey took over our minds,:: _snarled the Self Burner, :_:We will neverrrrr get back t'ose lives. And I... I don't even rrrrememberrr my name. ::_ he looked down at the ground, _::I canna' remember anyt'in I was beforrrre She and T'ey took my mind. Perrrrhaps I was taken verrrry young.::_

_::Anyway, it infuriates me to the bottoms of all seven of my legs!:: _One of the Lava People roared.

The other Lava Person looked at him, sending a private thought message. The first Lava Person looked down at his legs, lifting each one and muttering little growls to himself. Then he shot an irritated look back at the other Lava Person.

_::Scorch it, Deeploam. I'm a Lava Person. Arithmetic was never my strong point!::_

Gatalas laughed, "Then I greet all of you and say welcome to travel with us."

He held up a hand, mostly in joking, palm facing the Lava Person and fingers pointing upwards, "This is how we Sarmatians invite each other to become closer friends and allies. We show our hand and that we don't hold a weapon. The one I greet then places his or her open hand hand against mine. If we wish, we exchange names, but that is not required. But now it means me will share friendship. And it is a grave thing to break it."

Eyeful placed her muzzle against his hand and then stepped away, ::_It is how Turkmene and Rider greet each other, too. We adopted it from the Firemakers.::_

:_:That seems easy enough::_ the Lava Breather snorted, :_:Too easy. I don't accept friends that easily.::_

"It's not a gesture we Sarmatians make very often," Gatalas said quietly once he got the translation, "I would never offer this to a total stranger. I would, of course, offer him road hospitality and wish him kind greetings involving maggots and skulls. But I only offer the hand of friendship when I need further trust and an ally."

He shrugged, "And it's not a good idea to betray a Sarmatia whom you have accepted as a friend. Then we get slightly mad and kill you and take your scalp. But you can rest assured if you are a respectable enemy, then we use your skull as a drinking cup- we're polite that way, we Sarmatians."

A ring of curious People now watched him, eyes widened thoughtfully, pupils mostly slitted in the bright sunlight.

_::Your sense of honor and trust seems so innocent,:: _Darkfire thought-sent while Eyeful translated, :_:Surely your Firemaker brethren must think your Sarmatian Tribe are easy suckers.::_

"So many Firemakers do say that about us, too," Gatalas nodded and then flicked the greenish-hide streamers and little wooden, horned skulls adorning Eyeful's chest and neck harness, "But you really don't want to see me - or my Turkmene- when we're mad. Sarmatian horse harnesses were originally designed to be decorated with the scalps of Firemakers my people killed in battle. We decorated our Turkmenes. And we also used to adorn our riding coats with scalps, too in very nice patterns.::

He looked up and whistled mournfully, like throwing something away, ::_The Broomheads made us put a halt to that, so we found other ways to mark and count the Firemakers we have killed in battle.::_

He patted Eyeful's neck again, and she shook it so the little skulls clanked. I suddenly realized what the skulls were supposed to symbolize, and it made me feel grim inside. I saw now, with a shiver, when I counted the number of wooden skulls, that my good-hearted friends meant their business as warriors- and they took pride in it.

_::Impressed?:_: Eyeful winked at me, _::My mother wore so many scalps on her harness that the Broomheads thought she had a lion's mane.::_

Ugh. That grossed me out.

It may have grossed me out, but such tales of violence and taking grisly trophies did impress the dragon People, and they reacted happily to it. Seems Gatalas' strange strategy worked on them to gain their respect.

Still- wow! My kind Firemaker and the kind Turkmene- judging by Eyeful's now-grisly harness decorations, they had actually killed quite a few Firemakers - and some sort of green-leather skinned creature- in their lives. And they were supposedly young in age! It seemed hard for me to combine my good natured friends with cold blooded killers. There was obviously a story here that I hoped they would tell me one day. How did such ruthless beings become so kind to help hurt dragon kittens and River Rat-abused young women?

When Gatalas put up his hand again, all of them walked up and laid a muzzle against it, one by one. Even the Sisters did, too, fluttering up in the air to brush their muzzles against Gatalas' palm.

"So now you are friends with me, and I hope the Draco sees that, as well." Gatalas smiled, "We're certainly turning into the most interesting Dragon Unit ever.

So our now-larger little group moved on. It was a bit of a trick to coordinate for blind Gatalas, I think. Because of our wings, we People can cover distance better than a horse and rider. It meant that there was a constant wave of People moving ahead and waiting, but also doing this as discretely as possible. Gatalas fixed relays of People to go out and wait for us, but use the opportunity to check every bit of terrain while they waited.

"This could be another example of how dragons and we Sarmatians could work together," Gatalas told Eyeful while we moved along. (I was perched in my usual spot on Eyeful's saddle cantle), "They could go ahead of our units and cache depots of food and grain for long expeditions."

Eyeful twitched her ears, seeming to agree. Her head almost always nodded when she walked or trotted due to her normal gliding gait, making it hard to tell if she was just moving or actually agreeing with Gatalas.

I think she was actually impressing the new dragons because her normal journey pace was quite fast. The final travel group, mainly the slower Lava People, Sand Heatscent and one of the Naptha People, accompanied the Sarmatians. The dragons actually had to hustle to keep up with the orange and brown striped Turkmene.

Of course, Sand Heatscent was pleased about that. Eyeful was wearing her armor again, so he was content that his One True Love was back in her natural form.

I had to try hard not to laugh too much at his expressions of love and relief. Honestly, I was getting to be quite fond of the old Sandspitter, but he was so sadly stubborn about keeping this illusion alive about Eyeful being a bewitched Sandspitter in love with him.

I sure hope I never fall in love. Eeeew. What a waste of time!

Gatalas held the Draco pole while he rode as a precaution. He and Eyeful seemed to have worked out some way to hook it through one of the stirrup holders so it could balance against the Sarmatian Firemaker's leg while he braced it with one hand. The other gripped the handle around Eyeful's neck collar.

During our noon meal break, I practiced flashing my hide lights in codes. Jessamine and Sonja had been working out a code with me about how to use my flashes, so when the smoke of the attacks billowed up and the confusion of battle jumbled dragon thoughts, I could send messages like _::Come here!::_ and _::Fire to the left::_ and _::Bolas up and to the right!:: _

Gatalas had helped with developing my flash code as well, mentioning that his people sometimes used light flashing off of glass "mirrors" or even signals from fire smoke to alert allies in the distance. This was, of course, for those Sarmatians and allies who did not have Turkmenes to send mindspeech messages.

He remembered these flashing codes from his childhood days before he lost his eyesight, and he taught some codes to me. As I flashed them back to him, he leaned against Eyeful so he could "see" my responses. He would describe them as "bright dark-dark bright" or some other such rhythm to help me understand how the image pattern should work. He'd use accompanying hand gestures to help on that. _Bright_ was when he raised his flat hand, palm up, moving it towards the sky. _Dark _was when he hid his fingers into a fist and moved his hand towards the ground. When he combined the hand signals, that let me know the pattern I needed to make with my hide lights.

The Sisters then made adjustments to Gatalas' suggested patterns, ones that fit how they would see my light signals from the air.

Soon the other People were getting into the act, making suggestions and then discussing what sort of battle move they would make when they saw my light symbols. There were so many crazy ideas involving swooping-biting-flaming-roaring that it began to sound like a River Rat drunken festival to me, and Gatalas seemed to think so, too.

"I thought you dragon people had military formations and you fought together as many different tribes, so you _must_ have some sort of organized maneuvers," the young Sarmatian archer said as he broke off some dried journey cake to feed to Eyeful. (She lapped it off his gloved hand with a look of delighted joy in her pale green-brown eyes)

Eyeful translated Gatalas' words to the Sisters and the others.

_::Well, of course,::_ agreed Darkfire, the male Naptha Person, :_:But I have to admit I've never fought in a battle formation. I'm quite young, and I always thought wandering the world was more important than learning to fight, so I never bothered to learn battle techniques.:: _He gave a draconic snort of irony, _::In the end, when I ran into Her and Them, I was too easy to overcome.::_

_::And I have been mind-taken for so long I canno' rrrememberr if I ever learnnned battle moves.:_: The Self Burner said in his strange accent.

_::Besides, we's are fightin' against somet'in dat no Person can resist,:_: Purple Sonja agreed, sharpening her sharp iron claw cover on a rock,_ ::Anydin we try will result in us jes' gettin' overtaken.::_

_::Unless we are in the benevolent shadow of my sweet love and that strange, magical pole with the dragon Person's head on it:: _Sand Heatscent purred.

"That's even more of a reason why you dragons should work something out," Gatalas said and gave Eyeful an _I can't believe I just said tha_t smile, "I'm not that high rank in my Sarmatian unit- just a skirmisher and a horse archer, but I'm sure there are ways you could use the Draco as your shield and attack from within its protection, especially if Eyeful and I placed ourselves at the front."

And then I heard him add to Eyeful , in a softer voice, "And hope to Tabiti and Marha that we don't get skewered like a shish-kabob."

:_:You won't get hurt if some of us are stationed by you to protect you, :: S_and Heatscent rumbled, _::I can run quite fast for my kind and for long time periods. I will keep up with my love when she runs, and I would be under the pole's protection while protecting her with my sand blasts.:_:

Eyeful nickered at him in genuine gratitude (though she did sort of roll her eyes a bit, too) . He really was a good sort of fellow, even if disillusioned.

_::But what would the rest of us do? I don't think there are enough of us to make a difference,:: _One of the Lava People asked

Gatalas sighed and ran a hand through his blond forelock, cropped shorter, apparently, to make it easier to wear under a helmet, "Well, we can't do too much now, _doostamnir. _ We don't know who the enemy is other than a set of interesting pronouns. We have to figure out the enemy more."

He reached up from his cross-legged position and pat Eyeful's chest, "Horsebutt and I are headed to find our unit- you know this already. The Draco will protect them and will protect you, too, it seems. I know my Dragon Unit is going to attack this creature- oops, sorry- I mean Her and Them. For the moment the most important thing is to get the Draco to my Dragon Unit."

:_:Aye,::_ Jessamine agreed, :_:But we People agreed to come with you, so you'd better not keep us out of whatever strategy you're planning!::_

_::Or else...:: B_lossom gave an evil dragon grin and twisted her bolas overhead. Behind her the two Naptha People snorted in respect since her bolas were also laced with bits of sharp fine metal twisted around the cords, things she'd probably scavenged from Firemaker camps.

Gatalas laughed and raised his hands in surrender, "All right, all right. _Bebakshid_, my misunderstanding. You need to come back to your tribe with great deeds of victory in battle, but I don't know if you'll feel that willing to help my unit when you see a bunch of Firemakers like me all in one place. But I'll be grateful for your company until then."

::_And we could use the chance to have the Draco maybe free more People?:: _I asked quietly, gazing at the beautiful Draco head where it leaned against a rock.

Gatalas smiled and nodded at me, "That sounds like a good idea, Lux. It would not hurt to get a few more of your people on our side, but it means we won't get a lot of sleep tonight. Again."

_::Heh. Bring it on.:: _ I barked, _::Now, tell us how we can help with this if we try to save more dragon People tonight::_

"I don't know. It seems the Draco and the wards do most of it. If only there were a way we could somehow urge your mind-trapped people to fly more into the path of the Draco and the wards, kind of like..." Then he laughed and smacked his hands, sending up a cloud of honey cake crumbs, "Of course! We'll just do what my people when we herd the cattle and sheep and goats. I know you won't find it very flattering in sound, but in action it looks very cool. Let's have you dragons be cutting ponies!"

He was right. They were offended at first until he explained what a cutting pony did when it sorted a sheep or a cow from the main herd. Then they were intrigued.

It was a good thing we ate a good noon meal and rested afterwards.

The dragon attacks tonight were exciting, but the atmosphere was not pleasant at all. Much of it was a sensation of smoke and teeth and fire, the only clear indication the Draco pole shining its gold into a sky of smoke and ash.

But I will tell you of what I remember.

The hoof-prints in front of us grew deeper, indicating we were getting closer and closer to Gatalas' and Eyeful's Firemakers. But the sun moved faster, and we realized we would not meet Gatalas' Dragon Unit today.

Instead, we used the dimming light had to gather together and find a place to spend the night. The best the Amazon Sisters serving as scouts could find was a shallow area that was not as well hidden as the ones we had used the previous nights.

_::At least we're getting very close to the Sarmatian dragon.:: _Eyeful told me as some of the dragons followed Gatalas' instructions on setting a fire to roast the night dinner as of hunted fowl and fish, _:: Sky Lady. Hrani and Marha-willing, we'll be united with the other horse troops tomorrow!::_

But they came upon us before the cooking fires could get lit.

I wanted to hide, but I instead helped the Sisters and the others. As agreed upon, Darkwind gently grasped me in his front paws. He plunged up into the sky, carrying me. I leaned against his warm chest and felt his heart beat reassuringly against my head.

I watched the ground rush away from me with a thrill of excitement. Down below, I saw tiny doll figures of a Sandspitter and a dragon-armored Turkmene with a blond Firemaker on its back.

_::Can you all see me?::_ I sent to the figures below, and I added a rather nice roar to my transmission.

From below, Gatalas did that Firemaker gesture where they touch a hand against their head. It is a way of saying "Yes."

The Sisters trilled around me as they swooped up and down, scoping out the terrain, slings and bolas at the ready.

And the games began! From my vantage point I saw the dragons approaching and consulted quickly with Darkwind. The sharp-eyed Naptha Breather had a good sense of which People in the approaching flock could be separated.

He would relay to me the best Person for "cutting" out of the herd.

_::Head to your left at an angle!::_ I would thought-send and flash the agreed- upon code with my new ability. And this would be directed to a particular unit of Sisters.

And then that group of Sisters would fly toward the straggler, accompanied by a larger Person. (We had divided teams to have two or three Amazons work alongside one of larger People)

The Sisters would distract the ensorcelled dragon, blasting out small teasing burst of sticky fire and tossing bolos or ropes to thud against his or her side.

At the same time the larger Person in the team would usually "cut" the target from the herd, usually by slamming into him (Lava Person) or dropping down on him (Naptha Person or Self Burner), sending said victim down towards the Draco and our Sarmatian friends.

If the ensorcelled dragon Person struggled, then he'd find himself being attacked from the behind or above by Sisters, who would quickly zip out of range before he could retaliate. Then the larger Person in the team would strike again.

On Gatalas' orders, none of our allies used their fire weapons other than as distractions. We didn't want to cause a fight, rather to skirmish (I think that is the word Gatalas used).

The whole maneuver usually happened quite fast, and soon the power of the Draco took over once the skirmishing Amazon/larger Person unit would lure the ensorcelled dragon toward the Draco. The ensorcelled dragon would be "thrown" back into self control and usually wind up falling towards the ground. Instincts would come into play, and the dragon would spread itself into a (usually) graceful landing onto the ground. There it would shake its head, puzzled, until ready to listen to us explain our mission.

Meanwhile, Darkwind and I would soar onto the next "victim," signaling with light flashes to get another team of Amazing and a larger Person ready to "cut out" the next dragon from the herd.

And it worked! The Sisters would get the message I flashed and then react, and the larger Person in each unit also responded beautifully.

As the skies were beginning to get darker, my flashing came more and more in handy, cutting brightly pulses of rose and blue and gold through the darkness. Since some ensorcelled People snorted smoke and belched fire, that began to choke the air. That meant my bright flashes became more and more important to cut through the smoke as Darkwind and I wheeled trough the sky, sighting dragons and flashing orders.

It was hot, dangerous work. Cinders and smoke crept up my nostrils and made my eyes water. My head ached more and more as the attacks went on and my lungs filled with nasty smoke. The wind of flight that blew over Darkfire and me became hotter and hotter, made so by the breaths and angry fire of the resisting dragon horde.

One time a large, long-necked Person with bone-sharp wings launched at Darkfire, shearing at him.

_::Hang on, little brother!:: _ Darkfire suddenly dropped towards the ground as a huge wing sliced through the air above us. I felt pressure from the drop close along my sides and knock my crop out of whack. I then looked up and saw an actual sharply glinting wing plunging towards us.

Then things blurred and the world turned upside down. The sharp-bladed wing now hovered out of reach, but the sky was below me and the ground above my head!

I couldn't held screaming in fear and sickness as my stomach reminded me it did not like to be located over my head. But we had gotten away from that attacking Person because of Darkfire's actions, even if they had involved turning upside down.

So I remembered I was a Sarmatian dragon kitten, and I laughed instead, even though I was scared.

It was kind of fun, then, when Darkfire righted himself and there was a nice cool wind. The view around us in the dusky sky was beautiful with red tinted clouds, a rising moon and deep mountains now becoming blue and purple in the fading light.

_::Sorry, Lux, ::_Deepfire boomed to me,_ :: 'Twas the only way I could getaway from that Person!:: _

_::I understand. Maybe we can do it again when things are more calm. It _was _kind of fun.:: _I chirped back.

In the swirls of smoke and gas below me, I could now see the gleam of the Draco banner head and Eyeful's bright hide. The Sarmatian, Turkmene and Draco moved along with the flying horde, pacing them evenly with Eyeful's smooth gallop. Sand Heatscent rushed at Eyeful's side, growling at any threat of a Person who might attack this easy target.

Eventually the sounds of heavy wings and thuds of fireballs died down, and then there was nothing but greasy smoke and the swirls of our allies moving throughout the sky.

The outcome was good. When the dragon hoard thundered past us and onto its mysterious mission, , we had 8 new dragons milling around our campsite. It was a bigger crew this time: mostly Self Burners, two Double Heads and a snakelike, large headed, spiral toothed creature called a Death-Voice Breather. Eyeful told me that most Firemakers know of it as a _Whispering Death._

I noticed that Gatalas did not take off Eyeful's saddle and armor tonight, and she did not remind him of it, but she did seem relieved that he removed her chamfron at least. She shook her head, giving a very unladylike grunt of relief.

The two of them somehow seemed to have become the ones the dragons looked to for advice. Both were worried about going to sleep without making sure a proper watch was set up and the new dragons had a chance to listen to our story to decide whether or not to follow us.

I wanted to stay up to help out, too, but after the welcome dinner of wild partridge and fish and the stress of fighting, when the time to rest came, I found myself curled up against Jessamine, and I felt myself fall into sleep against my best wishes.

* * *

I watched Lux curled up asleep against Jessamine and felt happy for him. He had really worked hard today, and he earned that deep sleep.

Gatalas and I did not want to sleep, but when Sand Heatscent and several of the Sisters volunteered for the watch after ours, I was grateful of the chance to sleep.

We still insisted on setting out watches, even though we had the wards. We were not sure how far the wards could stretch out and still be able to protect an area, and there were enemies besides the She and They. We remembered the _smeu _who had led to Ravenwing's demise. And there were wolves and bears and Firemaker bandits. And, perhaps, even that mysterious many-eyed_ balaur_ creature the goatherd had mentioned a few days ago.

I was worried for how tired Gatalas looked. He was filthy after days without a proper bath, face smudged with smoke from the dragon encounter this evening. His forelock and loose strands of hair were working into nasty tangles and knots, now getting dark with ash. The burn from the original attack by the Sisters still was bright red on his hand, plus he had picked up an additional burn mark on the same hand from one of the attacking dragons.

I probably looked no better, but thanks to the dragon armor, I had no new scars on me, and I had not been burned in the attacks.

I felt, however, a sleepiness come over me, a calm in spite of my stress. I found myself drifting off. The sleep felt so good and deep, as if I slept in a summer pasture while bees buzzed around.

Then I became aware of actually lying horse style, legs tucked under me, bees flying around my head. The warm smell of summer grass- lush, lovely summer grass- wafted around me.

Gatalas lay on his back by my side, burnt arm thrown over his eyes and forehead and the smile of a sleeping baby on his lean face. I pretended to ignore the contented sleep drool on his lips.

Firemakers.

:_:Gatalas. Guess what? We're on the Dreampaths,::_ I told my Rider, turning my head to where he lay.

"Mmphhh? What did you say? I can't hear you. I'm too busy thinking about how we're on the Dreampaths."

I snorted in irony and just used the opportunity to relax. Sometimes that's all the Dreampaths mean. A tired soul can rest and regain strength. And we had certainly been through a lot in the last few days. Well, why not rest? It had been a while. Maybe it would give us some more reassurance we were doing the right thing by teaching battle maneuvers to these new friends who had literally fallen into our lives.

It did not feel so reassuring when I felt a heavy blow strike down from the sky.

It thudded against my saddle on my shoulders. I was knocked off of balance and onto my back, realizing in real life, if I had not been wearing a saddle, the attacking being causing that blow would have broken my back.

"Wha-hahha- Eyeful!" Gatalas was now coming up to his feet, blind eyes wide in surprise. He grabbed out for his bow, but that, somehow, had decided to not walk the Dreampaths with us.

Stupid Firemaker weapons.

Is struggled up to my feet and looked up into the steppe sky. A large, magnificent Lightning Breather hovered over me, wings outstretched and teeth glinting with nasty promises.

It was Toothless, and he was as raging like a prairie fire.

Gatalas and I had both been discussing we would need to confront Toothless for our role in his exile, whether we intended it or not. We had brought dishonor on him, and thus on ourselves. We needed to restore our honor to him. The Forge and Star Priests had approved this, and they had told us we should make good on our promise to defend our honor by letting Toothless fight us.

The confrontation really was coming at a bad time, just when Gatalas' leadership was most needed. But what could we do?

It looked like that moment of honor battle with Toothless had come up just now, whether we liked it or not.

* * *

_Oh, noes, it's a Cliffhanger. Oh, dear! Why u do that, Fjord Mustang...?_

I type this into my laptop as I sit on the beach outside my village, watching the waves come to lap against the rockh shore. In the distance the sunset is so beautiful.

When the jolt goes through me, it hurts, but I can hardly say I am surprised.

"Sorry, miss, but I had to do it. You're being a hypocrite." says a kind voice.

Blinking in pain from the cattle prod-like shock, I look up from my beach blanket and see a dark brown, winged horse and, perched on his back, a rather hunky looking middle aged man wearing a blue and white New England Fedex uniform. There is some sort of Red Sox logo on the horses's left flank. The harness on the horse has the words "Powered by TV Tropes" engraved on it in beautiful letters.

The rider is pointing a beautiful, glowing object at me. It resembles the scanning unit Fedex couriers use when they code in our labels picking up deliveries from work. But this one is labeled _Scanherja.  
_

"Hi." I respond, "Actually, I 'm a Cancer, not a Hypocrite. And sorry for the cliffhanger."

"It's just in poor taste, if you don't mind me saying, Miss," The Fedex man says with a smile on his fashionably stubbled face, "I mean, you've been hiring me to fix the cliffhangers in that "Hitchups" fan fiction. I'm not complaining- mind you- it's been a gas and I can always use the extra cash to pay for the new kayak. However, you tease authors like Antic Repartee with their cliffhangers and then _you_ proceed to end this chapter with one. And with your poor update history, that is just flat out cruel."

I look down at the sand, accepting the criticism., "You are right, sir. But, it's only a Cliffhanger Lite. If the readers just go to Chapter 10 o_f "To Soar Beyond the Sunset: A Night Fury's Odd Memoir,"_ they'll find this very scene. So they can read that scene and see how this will be resolved in the next chapter. Remember, this is a parallel to events happening in that fanfiction."

The Fedex man with _Scanherja_ nods thoughtfully. He raises the trusty scanning device to his eyes (covered by cool sunglasses) and reads it for a few minutes.

"How about that? Wicked, good! You're right! It _is_ a cliffie, but there is a resolution to it in your other fan fiction. So people can read that. "

He stashes _Scanherja_ in a belt holster and nods, "Okay, yer off the hook this time, Mustang. But if you ever do the Cliffhanger thing again, _Scanherja_ is going to give that long hair of yours a permanent poodle perm with the shock she'll deliver. You'll be begging for a buzz cut in no time when that happens!"

I salute in agreement, "Okay, sir. Point taken. I'm rather attached to my hair."

"No problem," He laughs and turns his horse to the horizon, "Now I have to fly off to Niflheim and plant a probability generator device for an upcoming fan fiction chapter. Oh, and a few exploding dragon eggs."

He flies off into the sunset. I shake my head.

What a waste of time.

* * *

Anyway, it has been a long time and I apologize. I think the missing incentive for my writing has been I have not been traveling. Somehow that gives me the fire burst to write new chapters. The minute I was back in the Faroes and Iceland I felt the need to write new chapters. Sigh. I need to get out more often.

The next chapter is already underway! May it take longer than a century for me to publish!

By the way, Lux's flashing lights are based on a real creature: the comb jellyfish. These non stinging creatures have bioluminescent-like lights along their sides that appear to blink and flash in sequence. Comb jellies have transparent, jelly-like bodies with bright, iridescent bands of color. The bands are made up of tiny hairs called combs, which divide the body into eight symmetrical areas. You can catch some beautiful You tube images taken of these creatures when they are flashing their lights. In North America there is a "warty" variant of sea comb known as the sea walnut that washes up on the beaches. They don't sting, so people like to handle them. Not sure if I like the idea of playing beach volleyball with them, though.

Thank you to **Whitefang333** for introducing me to these strange, wonderful creatures (I actually find jellyfish beautiful, though I would not want to get stung by one)

And thanks to **Michael Flanigan** for letting me know more about sea walnuts.

**Translations:**

_Oh, che khoob - _Oh, that's very good!

_Bale_- Yes

_Doostam/Doostamnir- _ Friend/Friends

_Motavajjeh isham!_ - I understand!

B_ebakshid_- Sorry, my mistake


End file.
